


Hamburger Is Not a German Word

by teyla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Castiel, Canonical Child Abuse, Castiel's First Kiss, Child Neglect, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Frottage, German Castiel, German Setting, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Immigration & Emigration, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sexual Inexperience, Student Exchange, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2016, Teenage Castiel/Teenage Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/pseuds/teyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2003. 17-year-old Dean Winchester, recently having lost his mother, is shipped off to a small German town on a student exchange he doesn’t want to go on. His host Castiel Novak holds a degree in brooding and despises the prospect of sharing his room with a stranger for six months. Culture clashes and personal baggage create challenges at every turn, but their differences could prove to be their salvation as, slowly, they begin to form an unlikely (and possibly profound) bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Neery](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neery) for the beta, and thanks to [Kat aka punkascas](http://punkascas.tumblr.com) for much encouragement, support, discussion of ideas, promo-graphic-making and general awesomeness.
> 
> [Meesasometimes](http://meesasometimes.livejournal.com/) made the super awesome art you see below! You can (and should) leave comments for the art [on her LJ post here](http://meesasometimes.livejournal.com/82091.html). Thanks girl. <3 You're super talented. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by my conviction that if Cas were human, he'd be German. Cas is blunt, efficient, pragmatic, and lacks a sense of humor anyone can relate to. Doesn't that sound German to you? Anyway, that's where my idea of a German High School AU started. Exchange student Dean Winchester was the logical next step, and it went from there. Expect grouchy Cas, flaily Dean, and way too many references to things that were cool in the early 2000s.
> 
> Dialog is kept mainly in English, with some German lines in the first two chapters that have a translation in the alt text (just hover over them) or in the linked footnotes. This is done for a simplified reading experience--please imagine Dean and Cas actually speaking German in this fic, unless otherwise specified.
> 
> Warnings at the [end](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/17137066#work_endnotes). Kudos are great, comments are greater. Have fun! Thanks for reading. <3

The exchange students were going to be introduced in fourth period.

Fourth period was English, a subject Cas felt decidedly neutral on. He felt neutral on most subjects, Biology and German Lit being his mild favorites. He was neither particularly well-read nor overly interested in the workings of nature, but Biology and German Lit came to him with an ease that made earning decent grades no challenge at all. Cas liked earning decent grades without putting in any work. Laziness was just another word for efficiency, after all.

What wasn’t efficient at all was being one of the four volunteers to host an American exchange student for the next six months. "Volunteer" was a lie, anyway—Cas had been signed up by his mother, who was convinced that the international contact would help his English grades. Cas didn't agree that his grades needed helping. He was holding them at a steady "satisfactory", which was the standard term for a three, the third-best grade possible. His mother never agreed with the standard terms, though, unless it was a "very good", a.k.a. a one. This morning, she’d told him that she expected an increase of at least one grade in exchange for allowing a strange kid into her house, as if making him share his room with a stranger for six months was a reward rather than a horrible punishment.

Listening to Herr Eckl drone on about arid climate zones and watching the hands of the clock creep towards 11:30, Cas wondered what his mother would do if he dropped a grade instead. Maybe she'd put the American kid out on his ass. Then Cas would at least have his room to himself. He filed the idea away for future reference.

The four metallic beats of the school bell announced the end of third period and interrupted Eckl mid-sentence. In a few hurried shouts, the teacher assigned their homework reading, his voice drowned out by the commotion of the entire class shuffling their chairs and bags around. Cas half-heartedly jotted down the page numbers he thought he'd understood, then flipped through his binder to throw a quick glance at the notes he'd taken last English class. They were little more than the date of the last lesson and some ornamental doodles, but he remembered listening to Frau Nagel talk about the correct way to construct a conditional if-sentence while drawing those swirls and loops. The memory prompted a yawn, and he scrubbed his palms over his face.

"Do you know anything about who you're getting?"

Cas glanced over at the boy he shared a desk with. Balthazar was skinny and not particularly tall, with ash-blond hair and too-big teeth adorned with braces. His parents had money, and he always dressed in the latest trend. Today it was loose cargos and a blue-and-white polo shirt. Cas shrugged, then shook his head. Balthazar huffed.

"He's going to have a great old time with you. When he goes back, his parents’ll be like, so, you learn any German? And he'll be like, dunno, not really, the kid I was staying with never said anything."

Cas harrumphed and shrugged again, then flopped back against the back of his chair and pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his fingers. "He can talk to my mom. This was her idea, anyway."

"I was going to volunteer, but my parents wouldn't let me."

"Why would you want some stranger staying with you?"

Balthazar shook his head. "Cassie, you're not thinking strategically. This isn't just any stranger, right? This is an American."

Cas squinted. "So?"

"Come _on_." Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Do you know how hard it is to get a green card? The only way to get in easy is through marriage."

"You want to marry one of the exchange students so you can move to America?"

"Duh." Balthazar spread his hands out to his sides. "Only place worth living. Beverly Hills, Arnold Schwarzenegger to my left, Julia Roberts to my right. One of those giant fridges that mix your drinks for you. Sign me up."

Cas snorted. "What if they're all boys?"

Balthazar shrugged. "Needs must, Cassie."

"You're so gay."

Before Balthazar got a chance to reply, the door opened to admit Frau Nagel, their class advisor who also taught English and German Lit. Behind her trailed a procession of three teenage boys and one girl. Balthazar elbowed Cas in the side.

"My future wife’s hot!"

The stage whisper was loud enough to be heard clearly in the sudden absence of chatter. Nagel glared in Balthazar’s direction, and Cas avoided her eyes. 

"Everyone settle down!" The instruction was perfunctory as the class was quiet already, staring at the newcomers with the self-conscious curiosity of twenty-eight late teens. Nagel shuffled the American kids around to stand in a row. _Like lambs to the slaughter_ , Cas thought.

They looked like the movies promised American teenagers would—dressed in blue jeans and t-shirts; almost all of them in shape, with one designated fat kid whose eyes were trailing across the room, mouth curved into an amicable smile. He looked friendly, chatty and extroverted, and Cas hoped he wouldn't be assigned to host that one. The kid probably wanted to talk all the time.

The girl was a petite blonde, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes alert. The hand she’d wrapped around the strap of her backpack was tense, knuckles white. Cas supposed he wouldn't mind hosting her for a while. He didn't have an opinion either way on whether she was hot, but she looked like she could handle herself. The last thing Cas wanted to do was play babysitter. 

The boy on the far left was too tall to be seventeen, bulky chest barely contained by his t-shirt, sandy hair cropped short and blue eyes piercing. He looked like the captain of the football team in every American high school movie. Cas caught himself staring and tore his eyes away. As impressive as the kid’s physique was, he was probably dumb as a brick. Guys like that always were.

Compared to Mr. Football, the kid on the far right seemed short despite his average height. He was keeping his head down so his face was obscured by the soft hair falling into it, but Cas could tell by his hunched shoulders that he was anything but comfortable. Cas sympathized. He'd hate to be lined up for inspection, too.

"Everyone, please welcome our guests," Nagel’s voice chimed through the room as she addressed the class in German. "They just got off a long flight, so after introductions, the hosts will be allowed to take their guests home."

The entire class erupted in protesting groans, except for the four hosts whose faces split into smug grins. Cas was no exception. He was sure his mother would've reconsidered this hosting idea had she known it would make him miss half a day of school.

Nagel raised her hands. "Settle down, everyone! Settle down." She turned to the American kids and slowed her German down to clear and precise syllables. "Stellt euch bitte erst einmal vor. Vor-stel-len." She gestured at the bulky footballer. "Fang bitte an. Wie heißt du?" [1]

The footballer’s eyes were wide and uncertain, but he gave it a valiant try. "Meine Name ist Cain," he said in a heavy accent. "Ich bin von Kansas City Jefferson High School." [2]

The name of the school came out with ease, unlike the rest, and Cas rested his chin on his arms to watch the rest of the introductions. 

"Benny Lafitte," the fat kid said with a complacent smile. He didn't seem bothered at all by the public speaking. "Ich bin von New Orleans aber gezogen in Kansas City last year. I mean. Letzte Jahr." [3]

"Jo Harvelle." The girl sounded as tense as she looked. "Kansas City Jefferson High." Her eyes darted around the room. "Ich bin sechzehn Jahre alt." [4]

Jo’s introduction was followed by silence when the kid on the far right missed his cue. "Sagst du uns, wie du heißt?" [5] Nagel encouraged after a moment.

The kid finally raised his head. He was pretty—boy band pretty, with freckles and soft facial lines, full lips and floppy strands of hair falling into his face. He could've starred in one of those corny _Bravo_ photo love stories, but his expression was one of a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. 

"Dean," he said, eyes darting around the classroom. "Dean Winchester. Kansas City."

He avoided speaking any German, a move Cas could respect. Nagel waited a couple of beats, but when Dean didn’t add any more, she nodded and shuffled her papers around. "Very good," she said in German. "Cain, Benny, Jo, and Dean, we’re very happy to have you. Welcome!" She turned her bright smile at the class, who echoed a few scattered welcomes. The exchange students didn’t show much of a reaction, except for Benny, who smiled and waved. Cas once again hoped he wouldn’t end up with that one.

"Let’s see who’ll be staying with whom." Now addressing the class, Nagel’s German grew more clipped. "Cain McConney, Hannah Weser."

Hannah, the class’ most promising candidate for the coveted 1.0 graduation average, raised a hand to gain the footballer’s attention. Cain tipped his finger to his hairline and smiled—a cliché American gesture if Cas had ever seen one—and shuffled over to Hannah’s desk, only to stand there awkwardly when everyone suddenly realized that there were no chairs for the exchange students to sit on. Nagel waved her hand at Hannah’s books and instructed in German, "Pack up your things, you’re excused for the rest of the day." She added in English, "Cain, make sure to get some sleep to shake the jet lag."

The response was in English as well. "Will do, Mrs. Nagel."

Nagel returned to her list. "Benjamin Lafitte, Ava Wilson."

_Thank God_ , Cas thought. Ava and Benny were a good fit for each other—Benny seemed about as cheerful and airheaded as the bouncy girl whose ponytail swung back and forth as she excitedly waved her hand to get Benny’s attention.

"Joanna Harvelle, Charlie Bradbury."

Charlie, who had her hands under her desk and was busy doing _something_ —Cas couldn’t make out what it was, but he was sure it wasn’t school sanctioned—snapped her head up and grinned. "Yes! Here. Hi, Jo!"

Jo narrowed her eyes at her future host, and Cas watched them both with lazy interest. Jo seemed uptight, and Charlie was pretty much the last person you wanted to be around if breaking school rules (or laws, for that matter) made you nervous. Charlie and Jo might end up proving a source of entertainment over the next six months.

"Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak."

Right. Cas returned his eyes to the front and lifted a palm off his desk to get Dean’s attention. He gave the American kid a once-over as he shuffled over and came to a halt next to the desk. Dean’s clothes were trendy enough but worn, just as the backpack flung over his shoulder. His haircut wasn’t as even as you’d expect. He kind of looked like an ‘N Sync guy’s loser younger brother. Green eyes met Cas’ briefly before Dean dropped his gaze, hair swinging back to obscure his face again. The hand clutching the backpack strap shifted, and Cas noticed a dark, sweaty imprint on the fabric. Dean’s discomfort was obvious. Cas wondered if he was the one causing it. Unlikely, considering they hadn’t even said hello yet. But then, it happened often enough that people decided he wasn’t worth their time without even speaking to him.

A jolt shot up his leg when Balthazar kicked him under the desk. "Stop staring."

Cas kicked back without turning his head and ignored Balthazar’s pained huff as he gave Dean a nod. "Hey."

"Hey."

Shifting hair revealed a glimpse of Dean’s face, which was fairly clear of acne. Lucky bastard. "Willkommen in Deutschland. Ich bin Cas." [6]

"Thanks. Name’s Dean."

The word came out in English, just as subdued and reluctant as Dean’s greeting. For someone who had gone to all the trouble of going on a student exchange, Dean seemed pretty unwilling about the whole speaking-German thing.

Cas struggled to think of a response, stomach twisting with the familiar anxiety of talking to someone he’d just met. When nothing came to mind, he decided that there was really no reason to prolong a conversation neither of them wanted to be having. He grabbed his stuff to shove it into his bag. "Komm’ mit." He waved a hand at Dean to follow him towards the door, then glanced at Balthazar with a smirk. "Bis morgen dann. Viel Spaß in Reli." [7]

"Ja, ja. Verpiss’ dich." [8]

Cas followed the other three pairs of German and exchange students out of the classroom. Ava and Benny were chatting already, mixing broken German with butchered snatches of English, seeming oblivious to the fact that they were both mostly unintelligible. Charlie was ushering Jo towards the staircase, in a hurry to get out of school, and Hannah had dragged Cain over to one of the display cases that lined the hallways, explaining the displayed art project in slow German while one hand stroked Cain’s expansive bicep.

Cas led Dean down the stairs and into the assembly hall, the heart of the school sporting marble floors and stretching three stories high. Crowded with students during recess, right now the large hall and the two galleries circling the expanse were deserted. Cas noticed Dean eying the columns reaching up to the ceiling. He looked impressed.

"Aula," Cas said and waved a hand at the hall. "So heißt der Raum." [9]

Dean showed no reaction, and Cas huffed and shrugged. "Vergiss’ es." [10]

They exited the Aula through one of the swinging double doors and stepped outside the school gates. A cobblestone path led them through another gate, this one in the old town wall, and down a hill into the old town of Freising, Cas’ hometown which lay just outside the administrative district of the state capital of Munich. Cas eyed the familiar exterior as he led the way. He’d never been outside of Europe, but he’d seen enough American movies to know that this looked nothing like the United States. He glanced over at his silent companion to see his reaction, but Dean wasn’t even looking at their surroundings. He’d shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and was following half a step behind, eyes glued to the back of Cas’ head. They widened in surprise when Cas looked around; then Dean’s expression grew defensive.

"Dude," he said. "I got something on my face? You stare a lot."

The deflection was so obvious that Cas wasn’t going to grace it with a response. But it was in English. Again. Cas narrowed his eyes in annoyance and waved a hand at their surroundings.

"Deutschland," he said, then pointed at Dean’s mouth. "Deutsch." [11]

For a moment, Dean looked almost hurt. Then his lip curled in a sneer, and his shoulders came up in a hunch. Cas’ body tensed as he wondered if Dean was going to start something, but then the other kid deflated, his posture dropping and eyes skittering off to the side. "Sorry." The pause got longer and Cas frowned, annoyance returning as he suspected that was all that he was going to get. Finally Dean added, "Don’t like flying." He glanced over and arched his palm to mime a plane. "Flug. Flugzeug. [12] Stresses me out." He waved a hand over his shoulder at the hill that at this point lay behind them and pulled his lips into a weak smile. "Your school building’s nice."

Cas was careful to keep any expression from showing on his face. He could tell that Dean was trying to offer an olive branch, but as far as Cas was concerned, it wasn’t working. The entire point of this exchange nonsense—which, by the way, Dean had actually volunteered for, while Cas hadn’t been given a choice—was for Dean to practice speaking German. If Dean wasn’t going to do that, the whole thing was a waste of time. The social aspect was of no interest to Cas. He didn’t need friends, German or American ones. He liked people best when they left him alone. "Also, du verstehst Deutsch. Du willst es nur nicht sprechen." [13]

Dean’s apologetic mood apparently lasted about as far as his willingness to use German words. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunching up as he looked off to the side. "Whatever, man. We catching a bus or something?"

"No." The English came out in a snap, and Cas emphasized it by putting his back to Dean and picking up his pace. "We’re walking."

\-----

The German kid marched them along at a brisk pace, further down the cobblestone path, across a pedestrian walkway, and onto a sidewalk that was twice as wide as the road it lined. It was paved with reddish bricks and lined with shops that looked like they’d been taken straight out of a European Market Place mall display.

Dean put one foot in front of the other, following Cas and keeping his eyes on the ground. He didn’t even raise his head when he spotted a vast expanse of meats and sausages in a butcher shop’s window display from the corner of his eyes. The mouth-watering smell coming from the small tent outside the shop, where a hefty woman in a white apron was selling freshly grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, made his stomach growl. The last time he’d eaten anything had been before he got on the plane.

He hoped the walk would end soon, and that when they arrived at Cas’ place, the German kid’s family would turn out to be large, a full set of parents and maybe three or four brothers and sisters. It wasn’t like his own family back home was that big, but it felt like _home_. Or it had until recently, anyway. Germany wasn’t going to be home; he knew he couldn’t expect that. But it’d be nice to have someone to spend the next six months with who didn’t hate having him around. So far, it didn’t seem like Cas was going to be that person. Figured that on an exchange he didn’t even want to go on, he’d end up with the biggest jerk among the hosts.

When he’d learned about the German exchange program as a freshman, it had sounded exciting. He’d ended up in German class because one of the few kids he knew from elementary school, Ash, had insisted that German was the only language worth learning. Ash dropped the class after barely scraping by the first year—neither languages nor studying were Ash’s strong suits—but Dean found that he enjoyed it. The prospect of maybe going on an exchange in his upperclassman years made the class even more interesting, and he’d spent the entire summer before his junior year working at Singer Auto to be able to contribute to the plane ticket.

Then, on November 2nd, 2002, eight weeks into the school year, everything had gone to shit. The following months the exchange had been the furthest thing from Dean’s mind, and had stayed forgotten until Dad had brought it up again in mid-June. They’d been at the court house, waiting for Sammy to have his verdict read, and Dad had bluntly told him that he’d signed him up to go to Germany in September. "You made such a fuss last year about wanting to go," he’d said. "And I’d rather have you halfway around the globe right now than anywhere near Sam. You’ve been nothing but a bad influence on your brother."

For a few days, he'd thought about putting Sam in the car and just leaving. Maybe going to Pastor Jim, who’d done Mom’s service and who’d said to ask him for help whenever they needed it. He’d spent hours thinking about what he’d say, how he’d explain why he and Sam couldn’t stay with Dad any longer. But in the end, he didn’t have the balls to go through with it. A little over 24 hours ago, he'd let Dad drop him off at the airport and had followed his classmates onto a plane for the first time in his life, wrecked with worry that with everyone else gone, Sam and Dad would kill each other, and wondering if Dad was right about Sam being better off with Dean an ocean’s distance away. As if things hadn't been bad enough, he'd then found out that flying was pretty much the worst thing in the world.

So far, Germany was alien enough to do nothing to ease Dean’s feeling of having been uprooted and tossed into the here-be-dragons part of the map. The road he and Cas were walking along seemed to be the main drag through town. It was designed for pedestrian traffic rather than vehicles; the street barely wide enough to fit two small cars passing each other. That didn’t stop the big city buses that made up the largest part of the sparse traffic. They thundered up and down the street at breakneck speed, noisy behemoths largely ignored by the passersby. Dean tried to imagine navigating this traffic with his dad’s ’67 Chevy Impala, and couldn’t. She would barely fit the road, let alone allow for the tight turns and corners. He had always considered the Impala a car superior to pretty much any other, but here, she’d probably be out-maneuvered by one of the tiny Peugeots 206 he’d seen two of already.

The pedestrians they passed didn’t seem so different from back home, with a few exceptions. There were a bunch of elderly women out and about. Most of them wore their hair short and curled, and some of them had it dyed—but not all of them in a natural color. Aquamarine seemed to be an option as well, just like a dark, reddish purple. They combined their alternative hair with a respectable trench, barely any make-up, a pulley bag stacked full with groceries, and formal, low-heeled shoes that looked like a pain to walk in. The first conservative punk-rock grandma that Dean spotted wore a frown so deep it almost made her eyes disappear. It only got deeper when Dean in his surprise forgot to step out of her path. He quickly corrected his mistake and heard her mutter something unintelligible under her breath. It didn’t sound friendly.

By the time the street lead into a big intersection, Dean’s feet were starting to ache. They continued into a residential neighborhood with small, cozy houses surrounded by gardens filled with shaggy greens, bushes, and, in a few cases, gnarly old apple trees. In contrast to the oversized sidewalk from earlier, this street had no sidewalk at all, just a narrow strip of packed dirt that ran along the side.

Eventually, Cas turned into the entrance path of an apartment block, four floors of maybe three units each, the bushes in front of it neatly maintained. After scooping the mail out of one of the mailboxes, Cas led them to the very top of the stairs.

"My mom isn’t home," he said as he let them in, still speaking English. "She’s at work. She gets home at five. Maybe five-thirty."

"All right." Dean glanced around as he followed Cas inside, but the entrance area was pretty cramped. "What time is it now? Uhm." Dean bent down to follow Cas’ example and pull off his shoes. "Wieviel Uhr ist es?" [14]

Cas tossed his backpack against a nearby door and headed further into the apartment. "Twelve. Ten past twelve."

Apparently Cas wasn’t going to accept the white flag and switch to German. The hallway was narrow, with a bookcase along the left and large prints of black-and-white landscape photography on the right wall. A door between two of the picture frames led into the kitchen, which combined a U-shaped counter area with a small dinner table. Dean eyed it, trying to quench the disappointment curling in his stomach. The apartment wasn't big enough to house more than two or three people. Looked like his hope for a large host family was going to stay unanswered.

Cas headed for what looked like a cupboard but turned out to be a freezer and pulled out a frozen pizza. The oven light behind the glass flickered as he turned it on, and a low humming filled the room. Dean was still trying to figure out how to ask in German if Cas was intending to share that when his stomach produced a loud growl. Embarrassed, he met Cas‘ eyes. "I, uh. Ich habe nicht gegessen. Seit die Flugzeug. Davor." [15]

Cas turned back to the freezer. " _Speziale_ or—" For the first time, Cas seemed to be struggling to find the English word. "Green stuff?"

"Was ist— _Speziale_?"  [16]

"It has—stuff. Meat." Cas held up another pizza carton, which, sure enough, said _Speziale_ on the front. "Pepperoni."

"Okay," Dean nodded. "Diese." [17]

Cas tore open both cartons and put the pizzas in the oven, then leaned against the counter with his hands in his jeans pockets. Dean shuffled his feet as the silence dragged. The German kid sure stared a lot.

"Where is your suitcase?"

"They had us leave them at the school. In—die Schule. Die, uhm." Dean wracked his brain to find the right words. "Die bringt die Koffer später. Nachmittag." [18]

Cas frowned. "Wer? I mean. Who?"

Dean suppressed a small victory whoop when Cas accidentally slipped into German. "Die Lehrerin. Frau Nagel." [19]

Cas’ eyes narrowed. "Sie kommt hier her?" [20]

"Ich denke." [21]

Cas didn’t seem too happy about that, but just gave another shrug, a gesture that was becoming familiar. "Want to see the apartment?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I’d like to. Bitte." [22]

Cas led them out of the kitchen and further down the hallway into the living room. It was large and bright, with a French door leading out onto a balcony overlooking the garden. There was a seating area with a TV to the right, and a dining table to the left. Behind it, another large piece of photography decorated the wall. This one was in color, a pale blue-and-yellow depiction of a beach.

"Deine Mutter möchte Fotograf?" Dean glanced over at Cas, who grimaced.

"My mom would like a photographer?"

Dean winced. Using German to hold an actual conversation was much harder than using it to earn grades. He felt like a five-year-old, and Cas mocking him wasn't helping. "No, I was just asking if your mom likes photography."

"Apparently," Cas replied drily, waving a hand at the prints on the wall.

Dean nodded, his determination to try to use German waning. Even if he was tied with Jo for being the best student in his class, that didn’t make him actually fluent. And right now, he didn't have the thick skin required to impress an audience as tough as Cas.

"Come on," Cas said with a wave. There were four more doors going off the hallway. One was Cas’ mom’s bedroom—Dean didn’t get to look inside—and another her study. Dean didn’t enter, just glanced through the cracked door at the neat desk and the shelves filled with books and folders.

"What does your mom do?"

"She works in the town," Cas replied, vaguely enough, and pointed out another door. "This is the bathroom. My mom uses it from six to six-thirty in the morning. I do at seven. You can go in at six-thirty. Or get up early."

"Six-thirty’s fine." Dean swallowed a question about whether he was going to have to scrub the floor with a toothbrush if he ended up being late.

The timer in the kitchen went off, and Cas waved a hand at the door he’d tossed his backpack against earlier. "That’s my room. We can look at it later. The pizza is done."

They ate at the table in the kitchen. Dean’s pizza lacked the promised pepperoni, but still tasted fine with its toppings of mild chilis, mushrooms and ham. Not that Dean tasted much around the awkward, heavy silence that hung over their meal. Cas seemed uninterested in attempting conversation, and Dean was too exhausted from the past twenty-four hours to think of anything to say. His appetite waned long before he was done, and he stopped eating with four slices left on his plate, the greasy pizza sitting heavy in his stomach. As he watched Cas finish his, he wondered if Sam was going to have to solely live off of microwave dinners for the next six months. It wasn't like Dad was much of a cook.

Eventually, Cas swallowed his last bite and scooped up the plates to put them in the sink.

"I have homework," he said as he ran some water to soak them. "You must be tired."

That was a pointed hint if Dean had ever heard one, so he nodded, too tired at this point to feel more than resignation at being sent away. "Yeah, I’ve been up for a while. Do I—where do I sleep?"

"My room. Come with me."

Dean felt like he should probably be more curious to see Cas’ room; the posters he had up on the wall, the kinds of books that lined his shelves and the bands in his CD collection. However, the aching homesickness weighing him down made it hard enough to lift his feet, let alone allow his eyes to go exploring yet another new impression. So when Cas led him into his room, Dean barely took in any details. He did notice a big detached wardrobe and a desk with a PC underneath the window. The heavy wooden bunk bed that sat in the far corner took most of his attention.

"I sleep up top," Cas said. "Normally there is no bed at the bottom. We put it back in for you."

"Thanks." Dean dropped his backpack on the sheets. "I think I really got to catch up on some sleep. Maybe my German will get better with a nap."

Cas tilted his head. "Your German is acceptable. I thought it would be much worse."

Dean was too surprised to be offended. "Was that a compliment? If yes, dude. You suck at them."

Cas’ eyes narrowed. "You suck at articles. Der, die, das. Very bad."

"Right." Dean shook his head. It was almost funny, the way Cas perfectly fit the stereotype of the impolite German. "Well. I am going to take _mein_ ass to bed now. I’ll see you later, or something."

"Yeah," Cas nodded. He didn’t leave right away, though. Instead, he shifted from one foot to the other and added, "Ich bin im Arbeitszimmer. Sag Bescheid, wenn du etwas brauchst." [23]

The German words came out with a shy, reconciliatory note. Dean’s reply took a moment as he tried to figure out how to react to the change of tone. He had no idea why Cas, after being a raging dick from the moment they’d met, would all of a sudden decide to be nice. Eventually he just shrugged. "All right. Will do."

Cas shuffled out of the room, and Dean pulled off his socks and sat down on the bed to pull his backpack into his lap. It was old, the zipper of the front pocket broken and the seams fraying badly. Mom had bought it for him years ago, a bribe to help him feel less anxious about going on a school trip in seventh grade. He knew she’d chosen the dark green color because it was his favorite.

He’d found the backpack while packing his suitcase last week, shoved into the back of his closet with a bunch of other things that were too broken to be used, but too precious to throw out. He’d stuffed his carry-on items into it, ignoring Dad’s protests about why he was using "that old thing". Tracing his fingers over the shredded seams now, he wished it were worth the money to get it fixed. It wasn’t fancy or branded, just some old WalMart purchase, and he could imagine his dad’s reaction to Dean asking to get it repaired: _"You might as well stuff that money in a pipe and smoke it, Dean-o. Just throw it out."_

The bag wasn’t worth anything. But that didn’t stop Dean from hugging it tight to his chest, pushing his face into it and inhaling a lungful of dusty old fabric as he tried to recall the warm comfort he’d felt as a seventh-grader when his mom had hugged him good-bye and told him to be brave and enjoy his trip.

The recollection remained a blurred sense memory, but as he crawled into bed still in his jeans and t-shirt, he took the backpack along anyway. German bedding was weird—there were no real sheets, just a thick duvet and the flattest pillow in the history of ever. He spent a couple of moments figuring it out, then pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

It felt nothing like his bed at home, but Dean told himself he’d just have to get used to it. Besides, he’d slept on worse.

\-----

It was annoying not to have access to his room. Cas spent a couple of hours on his homework—Math, French and some History reading. There were also Biology and Geography readings, but he made the executive decision to complete those at school tomorrow. He killed the rest of the afternoon in front of the TV, navigating the Prince of Persia through his collapsing palace on the Xbox. The game was new, and he’d already played it further than most users on the forum he frequented. He had a vague ambition to be the first to finish it.

Distraction arrived in the form of Frau Nagel, who dropped off Dean’s suitcase, and then his own mother, whose key clattered in the lock at five-thirty.

Naomi Novak was the only parent Cas had ever known. His older brother Gabriel—currently away at university—had some memories of their father, but anyone who valued their life would know better than to mention Chuck Novak to his ex-wife. Naomi worked as an administrator at City Hall, and had told Cas ever since he'd been little that she wanted him to do better than that. More recently Cas had started to think about the irony of his mother’s expectations in him being so much higher than the ones she put in herself.

She made him turn off the TV and told him to go wake up Dean, making her disapproval known that Cas let him go to sleep in the first place. How was he ever going to shake the jetlag like this? Cas knew better than to argue, and trudged along the corridor to nudge open the door to his room. "Dean?"

There was no answer, so Cas crossed the room to stand next to the bed. Dean’s face was relaxed, floppy boy band hair spread out across the pillow. Cas took in the impossibly straight nose and the long lashes throwing shadows on high cheekbones. If he was honest with himself, part of his discomfort with the American boy was that he was so ridiculously good-looking. With a face like that, Dean should never have to bother with lesser mortals like Cas, who just this morning had popped a zit on his cheek that held enough pus to feed a small army of maggots for a week. Dean shouldn’t even be noticing him. The fact that he was, and that he was meeting Cas on Cas’ turf, all awkward and vulnerable, was disorienting.

"Dean," Cas said again and reached out to prod Dean’s shoulder. "Aufwachen." [24]

Dean came around with a snort and a splutter, which Cas was pleased to find looked as unflattering on Dean’s face as it did on anyone else’s. "Guten Morgen. Oder eher Abend." [25]

"Hrmph," went Dean and sat up. He dug his knuckles into his eyes. "What—"

"Meine Mutter macht gerade Abendessen. Sie meinte, du sollst deinen Koffer auspacken. Und duschen." [26]

Dean blinked at him, bleary, and Cas was just about to repeat himself in English when Dean nodded. "Right. Yes." He glanced down at his backpack which was slumped on the floor next to the bed; then reached down to pull it up and hug it to his chest. Cas frowned. What did Dean think, that Cas was going to steal it?

"Did my—ist meine Koffer hier?" [27]

Cas jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Steht draußen." [28]

"Cool." Dean climbed out of bed, backpack still in one hand as he shoved the fingers of his other into his hair to brush it out of his face. Bare feet left impressions on the hardwood floor as he headed for the door. Cas went over to his wardrobe and pulled it open. When he spoke, he continued to use German.

"You can put your clothes here," he said, showing Dean the space where on his mom’s urging he’d moved a stack of t-shirts the day before. Dean, who was lugging his suitcase into the room, craned his neck to see. His face fell as he eyed the narrow gap. Cas had to admit that it wasn’t anywhere near enough space to hold all of Dean’s stuff, so after a moment’s hesitation, he pulled out the other t-shirts to clear the rest of the shelf. "If you have anything that needs hanging up, it can go on one of the hangers over here."

"Okay," Dean nodded as he dumped the suitcase next to the wardrobe. "I have a suit," he said in German. "Otherwise it’s just jeans and t-shirts and stuff."

They spent the next few minutes putting away Dean’s things, Dean handing Cas stacks of clothes and Cas piling them into the wardrobe. They quickly fell into an easy rhythm, and when their fingers brushed against each other accidentally, Dean gave him a small smile. Cas returned it, hoping the expression looked more genuine to Dean than it felt on his face. Smiling like he meant it was difficult sometimes, even when he did actually mean it.

When only shoes and toiletries were left, Cas grabbed Dean’s two pairs of sneakers to put them out front. He came back into the room to see Dean pulling a picture frame out of his backpack. He held it closer to his chest when he noticed Cas.

Cas eyed him. "What's that?"

Dean hesitated before he turned the frame around. "It's my family. My mom."

Cas squinted at the picture, which showed a smiling blonde woman and a boy that was probably a ten- or eleven-year-old Dean. There was no sign of Dean's dad. "Are your parents divorced?"

Dean shrugged, then shook his head. "My mom’s not around. It's just me, my brother Sam and my dad."

"What do you mean, not around—"

Dean grabbed his bag of toiletries, shoulders hunching up as he avoided Cas’ eyes. "Can I put this in the bathroom? It's got my toothbrush and things."

Cas squinted, thrown. "Where else would you put it?" Dean's wrong-footed expression suggested that it was a rhetorical question, so Cas waved him off before he managed to put together a reply. "You can put it in the bathroom. Did you want to take a shower before dinner?"

"Actually, yeah. I think I should do that."

"Bathroom’s where I showed you earlier. Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." Dean gathered up his things and left. Cas stayed where he was and looked back down at the picture in his hands. Dean saying his mom wasn't around anymore could just mean that she and Dean’s father split up, except that Dean had shaken his head when Cas asked about a divorce. Besides, in a divorce, the kids never ended up with the dad, right? That only happened when the dad’s wife died. 

It wasn't really his business, though. He found a spot for Dean's picture on his desk right next to Dean’s bed. He had to move his Mr Smith action figure, but he found he didn't mind.

* * *

[1] Please introduce yourselves. In-tro-duc-tions./ Please start. What’s your name? [back to fic]  
[2] (slightly dodgy German) My name is Cain. I’m from Kansas City Jefferson High School. [back to fic]  
[3] (very dodgy German) I’m from New Orleans but I moved to Kansas City last year. [back to fic]  
[4] (correct German) I’m sixteen years old. [back to fic]  
[5] Would you like to tell us your name? [back to fic]  
[6] Welcome to Germany. I'm Cas. [back to fic]  
[7] Come on./ See you tomorrow. Have fun with religious ed. [back to fic]  
[8] Yeah, yeah. Fuck off already. [back to fic]  
[9] That’s what we call this room. (Aula is a rarely used German word for auditorium.) [back to fic]  
[10] Never mind. [back to fic]  
[11] Germany./ German. [back to fic]  
[12] Flight. Plane. [back to fic]  
[13] So you understand German. You just don’t want to speak it. [back to fic]  
[14] What time is it? [back to fic]  
[15] (slightly dodgy German) I haven’t eaten anything. Since the plane. Before. [back to fic]  
[16] What’s—Speziale? [back to fic]  
[17] That one. [back to fic]  
[18] In—the school. The, uhm./ She’ll bring the suitcases later. Afternoon. [back to fic]  
[19] The teacher. Frau Nagel. [back to fic]  
[20] She’s coming here? [back to fic]  
[21] I think so. [back to fic]  
[22] Please. [back to fic]  
[23] I’ll be in the study. Let me know if you need anything. [back to fic]  
[24] Wake up. [back to fic]  
[25] Good morning. Or more like, good evening. [back to fic]  
[26] My mom is making dinner. She said you’re supposed to unpack. And shower. [back to fic]  
[27] Did my suitcase arrive? [back to fic]  
[28] It’s outside. [back to fic]


	2. Chapter 2

Dean decided that he liked Cas’ mom. During dinner, she asked a few casual questions, and otherwise filled any awkward silences with pleasant conversation. She offered Dean to use the phone to touch base with his family, and when Dean pointed out that his dad and brother wouldn’t be home until after midnight German time, she promised to show him how to use the computer in her study to log onto the internet and write an email. Cas relaxed a little over the course of the night as well; he even smiled and laughed a couple of times. When Dean went to bed, he did so with a lighter heart than in the afternoon.

German school started at eight, and lessons were forty-five minutes long. After the first one – German Lit with Frau Nagel – Dean gathered up his books to head to the next class, only to learn that apparently, all classes took place in the same room with the teachers coming and going. The bell announcing the end of second period was followed by the entire class shuffling their chairs and getting to their feet, causing Dean some confusion until Cas explained that second period was followed by first recess. 

Dean followed Cas out of the classroom to spend the fifteen-minute break in the third floor gallery section dedicated to class 11B. Cas sat down on the floor with his back against the bars of the railing, leaving him with an excellent vantage point to watch the fifth and six graders playing catch in the Aula down below. Dean sat across from him, keeping a respectful distance from the edge. The space next to Cas got occupied by a scrawny kid with braces.

"Einen wunderschönen guten Tag, liebe Mitschüler," the kid intoned and held out a hand to Dean. "Willkommen in unserem großartigen Land! Nicht so großartig wie eures, aber wenigstens sind wir nicht Frankreich. Wie geht’s, wie steht‘s?” [29]

Dean took the hand and threw a glance at Cas, unsure how to react to the verbose greeting. Cas seemed as neutral as ever. "Balthazar,” he said and waved an introductory hand. "Dean.” 

Dean was rewarded with a firm shake and gave the newcomer a smile. "Es geht gut,” [30] he answered Balthazar's question.

Balthazar elbowed Cas in the side. "Hey, it speaks German.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich and spoke with his mouth full. "Hannahs Ami weigert sich partout, auch nur ein Wort zu sprechen." [31]

Dean glanced over to where Cain’s host was pointing things out to her charge, struggling to engage him in a conversation. Dean watched them for a moment, trying to decide who deserved more sympathy.

"Dean wollte zuerst auch nicht. Weiß allerdings nicht, warum. Sein Deutsch ist nicht schlecht." [32]

Balthazar made Dean jump when he let out a loud cackle and clapped his hands together. He reached over and slapped Dean’s arm. "Cas hat dir gerade ein Kompliment gemacht! Das kommt so gut wie nie vor. Als nächstes wird’s ein Heiratsantrag sein." [33]

Dean huffed a smile to cover for the fact that he had caught only about half of that. "Was ist—Heiratsantrag?" [34]

Instead of offering a translation, Balthazar jumped to his feet and spread out his arms.

"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!” he proclaimed, drawing looks from every student close enough to catch his words. Dean watched him, floored with surprise, as he leaped a few steps to the side and pitched his voice into a thin falsetto. "That’s just like you, Harry! You say things that make it impossible for me to hate you, but I hate you!” His hand came up to wipe away a fake tear. "I hate you.” With the entire 11B gallery section watching, Balthazar slammed the heels of his palms together and pursed his lips to create kissing noises. "Kiss, and _scene_!”

The display was followed by stunned silence from the onlookers; then someone shouted from the background. "Setz’ dich hin, Schwuchtel!” [35]

Dean had no idea what the word meant, but he knew the gesture of two raised middle fingers that Balthazar was directing at the vocal spectator. "Ruhe auf den billigen Plӓtzen!” [36]

Cas’ resignated sigh drew Dean’s attention. "Hock’ dich wieder hin,” [37] Cas said, but Balthazar waved him off.

"Kunstbanausen.” [38] He fixed Dean with a set of raised eyebrows. "Hast du’s wenigstens verstanden? Did you get it? Heiratsantrag?”

"I—" Dean faltered under Balthazar’s stare. "It’s a profession of love?”

"It’s when you ask someone to marry you,” Cas said.

"A proposal,” Dean suggested, and Cas nodded.

"Something like that.”

Balthazar looked back and forth between Dean and Cas, then clapped his hands together. "Schӧn, dass wir das klӓren konnten. Bitte entschuldigt mich jetzt [39], I have to go see a man about a dog."

Dean watched him weave away through the crowd. "Does he always talk in movie quotes?” He glanced back at Cas, who was picking at a crack in the linoleum floor and shrugged his shoulders.

"Balthazar likes movies. He wants to be an actor in Hollywood.”

Dean tried to imagine Balthazar in Billy Crystal’s role of Harry, shouting romantic love declarations with the hard v’s and r’s of a Nazi villain, and had to pinch down on a smile. "Well, Arnie made it, right?”

Cas met his eyes. "Yes. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Balthazar Kiel, basically the same thing.”

This time, Dean couldn’t hold the laughter in. Cas smiled as well, plucking off a tiny piece of linoleum to chuck it down into the Aula. "He's good. He takes part in theater pieces here in school. He played Mephisto last year.”

"Mephisto?”

"From _Faust_?” When Dean shook his head, Cas explained, "Mephisto’s the devil. Faust is a—a researcher. He sells his soul to him.”

"Right.” Dean imagined Balthazar all dressed up in red, horns on his head, maybe a set of torn wings, make-up making him look gaunt and haunting. The mental image was oddly striking, and Dean glanced down at his hands as he felt his ears grow warm. "Um. The—what did the other kid call him? What’s— _shwussel_?”

Judging by Cas’ confused squint, he hadn’t gotten the pronunciation right. "Schwuchtel?” Dean nodded. Cas shrugged and went back to pulling bits of linoleum out of the crack. "It’s just—stupid.”

"Does it mean anything?”

"That you want to have sex with boys.”

"Oh.” Dean had planned to extend his German swear word repertoire, but he didn’t know how he felt about the first German insult he learned being the equivalent of faggot. Though considering it was one of the most frequently used slurs at Jefferson, it wasn’t that surprising. He glanced in the direction Balthazar had disappeared in. "Is it, um, true? Is Balthazar, you know. Gay?”

Cas’ eyelids came together to form narrow slits. "Why do you think I know that?”

"It’s—aren’t you guys friends, or something?”

Cas yanked a dime-sized piece of linoleum off the floor. "Maybe. But not—boyfriends.” He chucked the piece of linoleum at Dean, who felt a light flick as it hit him in the arm. It didn’t hurt, but he rubbed over the spot anyway.

"I never asked if you were boyfriends. I just asked if Balthazar was gay.”

"I don’t know. I already said. Why are you asking? Are _you_ gay?”

"What?” Dean’s throat dried up. "No! Screw you, dude.” He picked up the piece of linoleum and chucked it back at Cas. It hit him in the shoulder and bounced off ineffectively. "I’m not gay. I date girls.”

"Really.” Cas tone was flat. "Do they have penises? Just so you know, that means they’re not girls.”

Dean could feel a cold sheen of sweat breaking out on his back as his ears echoed with voices from past school memories calling him a variety of insults ranging from ‘girl’ and ‘wimp’ to ‘mama’s boy’ and the trusted fallback slur ‘fag’. He'd never shown that kind of interest in boys—at first he was too young, and later too wise to admit to anything like that. Mostly it was his face that made him an attractive target, soft lines and a girly mouth, and his hair that his mom always used to leave longer than Dean would have liked her to. In his freshman year at Jefferson, he made sure to pick enough fights to lessen those voices, and when he started dating Lisa Braeden two months into the year, they fell silent for good. He wasn't about to let them start back up here in Germany.

When he spoke, he did so through clenched teeth. "If you don’t shut up, I will punch you in the face.”

Cas huffed, unimpressed. "I don't care if you're gay or not. It's not my business. And—the other way around. So don't ask me.”

"Fine.” Dean jumped to his feet, all riled up for a fight that wasn’t going to happen. "Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall, anyway. It's not like I want to.”

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said Cas looked hurt. But the dismissive wave of Cas’ hand told a different story. "Fine. I don’t want to talk to you, either.”

Dean huffed as derisively as he could manage and stomped off, trying to ignore the twinge in the pit of his stomach that suggested he'd just screwed things up with the only person he was going to be able to talk to for the next six months. Cas was just his host. There were plenty of other kids around to hang out with. 

He joined Cain for the last few minutes of break, which he spent offering sympathy for all the things Cain thought were wrong about Hannah. When the bell announced the end of recess, he felt almost no relief at all about the conversation ending.

\-----

He and Cas didn’t really speak for the rest of the week. Cas’ mom showed him how to use the computer in her study to get online, and he started an email exchange with Sam. Between Sam bitching about Dad, his social worker, and the fact that the teachers at school stopped liking him once they heard about his trouble with the law (huge surprise there, Dean thought when he read that part of Sam’s passionate rant), and Dean telling Sam about all the oddities of Germany, Thursday and Friday went by without incident.

Friday night Dean found himself in the shower, using rivulets of warm water to hide tears sliding down his cheeks. This kind of crying had become familiar over the course of last year, an exhausted, almost mechanical expression of stress. He missed his mom. When they'd talked about him applying for the exchange in his sophomore year, she'd said she’d call every day while he was away, maybe even visit if there was enough money. He wished she were still around to do that. She’d have loved all the ways Germany was different, and would have known how to make them fun instead of terrifying.

When he came out of the shower, Cas’ mother—who’d offered to let him call her Naomi, which felt weird every time it passed Dean’s lips—eyed him with concern and asked him if he was okay. He reassured her that he’d just gotten shampoo in his eyes.

In his and Cas’ bedroom, he found Cas at his computer, doing what he'd spent most of his time doing the past couple of days: hacking away at his keyboard and commanding a large pixel-ogre through a green-and-grey landscape. The image on the screen never seemed to change much, but Cas’ attention never wavered.

Dean himself had raided Cas’ bookshelf for a distraction. He’d found a selection of science fiction and fantasy, interspersed with non-fiction books about bugs and plants, of all things. He’d been more surprised than he should have been to find that everything was in German. A few of the titles he already knew, but instead of rereading them in German, he'd chosen a book with a severe-looking dude on the sleeve—apparently the author, who looked like Tommy Lee Jones dressed up as Conan the Barbarian, with a no-nonsense beard and absolutely no smile on his face. Dean was three chapters into it, and riveted. The bookshelf held two more titles of the severe German author, and Dean had every intention of making his way through those as well.

Considering he and Cas weren't speaking, it looked like he was going to have a lot of time to kill over the next six months.

He'd been reading curled up on the bed with the picture of his mom on the edge of his vision for about an hour when suddenly, Cas did speak up. 

"Hey.”

Dean waited for something more, but nothing came. "What's up?”

"There's a party on Saturday I'll be going to.”

"All right.” There was another long pause. "Are you asking me if I want to come with you?”

"I'm not asking anything.”

"Well—can I come with you?”

Cas glanced around. He looked pissed off, but Dean was beginning to think that might just be Cas’ face. Sure enough, after a moment he shrugged one shoulder and turned back to his computer. "Sure.”

Dean watched him work the mouse and the keyboard in quick, well-versed strokes, already completely immersed in his game again. He really wished Cas would speak to him. Even if they'd gotten off on the wrong foot, judging by Cas’ book selection, they shared at least one or two interests. And watching Cas right now, his focus as sharp as his profile broken up only by strands of thick, probably really soft hair, he looked like someone Dean could probably be friends with.

He wished their stupid fight had never happened. Maybe it wouldn’t have had to. Maybe he could have just admitted to Cas the way that he sometimes felt about boys. Cas’ reaction to anything seemed to be neutral acceptance, so maybe that's what Dean’s admission would have gotten, too.

The thought was as tempting as it was terrifying, but with six more months to go, Dean knew this was not a risk he could take. "I'm going to check my email,” he muttered and clambered out of bed to escape into Naomi’s study. He made sure not to meet Cas’ eyes as Cas looked up from the screen to watch Dean leave.

\-----

Saturday evening took forever to arrive. Cas didn’t normally see anything wrong with co-existing in companionable silence, but the silence he and Dean had shared over the past few days was not at all companionable. Last night, Dean had spent most of the evening hiding in the study, a testimony to how little he seemed to want to be around Cas. Saturday passed in a similarly tense atmosphere; Cas focusing on _Warcraft_ and Dean reading Wolfgang Hohlbein. After dinner, Cas tried to gauge Dean’s mood.

"Do you still want to come to the party?”

Dean glanced up. As far as Cas could tell, he didn't look annoyed, but Cas was not a very good judge of emotions. "Yeah. If that’s all right.”

"Sure.”

Another stretch of not-at-all companionable silence followed until Dean spoke again. "Is your mom driving us?”

"No. We can take the S-Bahn.” Dean’s brow creased in confusion and Cas added, "The train.”

"Oh. All right.” That seemed to be all Dean had. Cas watched him eye the picture of his mother, something Dean had been doing a lot. He wondered if he should ask Dean about her—maybe Dean was just homesick—when Dean pushed himself up off the bed. "Better get ready, then.”

Dean getting ready almost made them miss the train. Cas stood by the door, already in his coat and boots, and was nervously shuffling his feet when Dean finally came out of the bathroom. He had arranged his hair in fringy spikes across his forehead and was wearing beat-up jeans and a burgundy t-shirt advertising some sports team. He looked very nice. When he came over to put on his shoes, Cas noticed he also smelled very nice. He must have taken a shower.

"Hurry. We will have to run to catch the train.”

"Oh. I’m sorry, I—"

"It’s fine.” The moment Dean finished tying his shoes, Cas pulled the door open and set off for the stairs. "Take your coat and follow me.”

They covered the ten-minute-walk to the station in half that time. Cas tore up the stairs to the platform and dove between the closing doors of the S-Bahn to block them. With one foot in the car and one foot on the platform, he craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. "Dean!”

Dean was panting up the stairs and jumped in next to Cas just when the door rang a screeching alarm for Cas to clear the doorway. He did, grabbing Dean by the shoulder to steer him towards one of the seats as the train jerked into motion. His heart was pounding in his chest, which flooded with proud relief. "We made it!”

Dean looked flushed and wide-eyed, breath coming in short gasps, but his face cracked into a broad smile. He held up his palm. "Go us! Gimme five.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at this quintessential American gesture, but the excited spark in Dean’s eyes and the grin on his face was captivating. He clapped his hand against Dean’s and found himself returning Dean’s grin with a smaller one of his own. "Go us.”

The silence returned during their train ride, but it felt less awkward. Dean spent most of the ride staring at the trees and fields rushing past. Cas spent it watching Dean. When the landscape changed from farmland to warehouses and office buildings, Dean glanced over at Cas.

"Are we going into Munich?”

Cas nodded. "Michael lives in the city. Balthazar’s brother. He’s a student at the university. It’s his party.”

"Oh.” Dean shifted. "Is it—are we going to need IDs or something? I just have my real one.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Is that something you really do in America? You get fake IDs?”

"Well—if you want to buy booze or cigarettes, you need one. Unless you find a place that doesn’t card, but that doesn’t usually work for booze.”

Cas shook his head. "You don’t need one here. You’re seventeen, right?” Dean nodded. "Then you’re allowed to buy alcohol and cigarettes. Not hard liquor. But beer and wine.”

Dean’s eyebrows formed an incredulous frown. "So that’s really true? You can drink when you’re seventeen?”

"Sixteen,” Cas nodded. "And Michael is eighteen, so if you really want to drink vodka or rum or something, there’s going to be that at the party, too.”

Dean clapped his hands together and laughed, gleeful. "Awesome.” He paused for a couple moments, then glanced over at Cas. "Have you ever been drunk?”

Cas shrugged. "Once or twice. I don’t like it that much. I like smoking better.”

"Smoking.”

Dean’s voice seemed to indicate a question, but as he didn’t straight-up ask anything, Cas just gave a grunted confirmation. Dean seemed to be content with that and went back to watching the city growing around them as they headed further into it.

\-----

Michael’s parties were a half-yearly event. Cas wasn’t much of a party-goer, but in the past, Michael’s parties had proved to actually be worth his time.

As a long-time member of the Catholic youth in his parish, Michael enjoyed a high level of trust and some privileges, such as being able to obtain the keys to the parish youth center for two nights a year to do with the premises as he pleased. Most kids attending Michael’s parties were eighteen or older, theology students from Michael's course and their friends and roommates. Balthazar, Cas and now Dean were the only underage exceptions. Such were the perks of being friends with the host’s younger brother.

Not that Cas went there for the thrill of a wild, plus-eighteen party. Cas went there because Meg went there, and Meg sold by far the best weed in town.

As they descended the stairs into the basement of the youth center, they found a party area equipped with the necessary basics—a make-shift, well-stocked bar; a small dance floor with some colored lights; and what Michael called the lounge area: a chunk of floor space dedicated to a couple of threadbare couches, some pillows and a collection of worn-down sofa cushions. The space was filled with the usual suspects. Cas raised his hand in greeting whenever he saw a familiar face.

Dean made a beeline for the bar, where he was welcomed by the barkeep Crowley. Cas listened to Dean share his excitement about getting to drink alcohol legally, and saw a spark go off in Crowley’s eyes as the older kid realized that a victim with no legal drinking experience had just walked into his Venus Fly Trap.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn around. Meg greeted him with an overzealous hug. Leaving Dean and Crowley to discussing which kind of alcohol should be used to pop Dean’s cherry, Cas followed her upstairs and into the yard to where the smokers had set up camp. He briefly considered asking Dean if he wanted to come along, but refrained as he saw Crowley present Dean with a brightly-colored cocktail complete with straw and a little umbrella. Dean would find him if he needed something.

A few hours later, limbs comfortably heavy as he was lounging against the low wall that separated the yard from the sidewalk, Dean was the furthest thing from his mind. A comfortable haze was clouding his drifting thoughts, allowing him to take in only occasional, passing impressions.

One of those was the question of whether he liked Meg for Meg, or for her weed connections. They'd met when she'd joined his class last year to repeat tenth grade, and had become more closely acquainted mainly due to their shared interest in illegal substances. She'd left at the end of the school year to start a traineeship at a TV broadcaster in the city.

Right now she was sprawled next to him, explaining to him how much of a sucker he was for still hanging in there at school. In the course of her traineeship, she still had to attend classes, but she also received a salary. This aspect seemed extremely important to Meg; she kept naming numbers and counting percentages to explain to him how much she was getting paid per lesson compared to how much of her time got wasted when she was still in school.

Staring up at the starry night sky, he wondered if she was right about him being an idiot for trying to wrap up year thirteen. He also wondered if she'd share another joint with him if he told her that she was. There was a small bag of crinkly leaves in his pocket, but he was saving that for later.

He didn't notice Crowley until the older boy’s beefy shoulder bumped into his. The shove dislodged his perfect view of the night sky, and Cas grunted in protest. "Hey.”

"Hey there, Bob Marley. Having a good night?”

Cas gave Crowley a sour look. He'd never liked the kid. He was from up north somewhere. "Not anymore.”

Crowley grinned, flashing a row of toothpaste commercial teeth. "Cold night in hell when you're having a good time, right?” Crowley’s hand landed on his shoulder, uncomfortably heavy. "I like your American. He knows how to have a good time. Or he will, once he’s built up a bit of a tolerance.”

Before Cas could ask what Crowley meant, Meg flailed her arm across his lap to slap Crowley’s thigh.

"Go away, asshole,” she snarled. "We were making out. Third wheel’s not appreciated.”

Cas squinted in confusion and mentally recapped the past fifteen minutes. "Meg, I don’t think we were making out.”

"But we were working up to it, right?” Meg let her shoulder sag against his, and Cas glanced over to see her blinking her eyelashes up at him. "Don’t tell me you were planning to smoke all my weed and then leave me hanging.”

Even though the stoned cloud hanging over his perception dampened his discomfort, Cas still tried to shift away a little. "I don’t want to make out, Meg.”

"He’s not interested in you, skank,” Crowley provided unhelpfully from Cas’ other side, making another emotion break through the layer of weed sedation, this time annoyance. Cas shoved his shoulder into Crowley’s.

"Shut up. I’m not interested in you, either.” He frowned, suddenly feeling crowded pinned between Meg and Crowley. Resentfulness curled in his chest. "You guys are ruining my high.”

He pushed to his feet, ignoring Meg’s protests and Crowley’s derisive scoffs. He made his way back towards the building and followed the pinhole focus of his stoner vision back into the basement.

It was a lot warmer down here now. Warmer, and louder. Crossing the room, Cas felt like he was swimming through molasses of alcohol and sweat, colored lights dancing on the drops of moisture in the air and creating a kaleidoscope across the rainbow spectrum. He put his palms together in front of him and brought them apart in a swimming motion to part this psychedelic red sea and allow him passage. He soon hit a stride and was smoothly passing through the waters of this low-density sea, the waves rocking him gently back and forth to the beat of the music.

His foot hit an obstacle, and he overbalanced. His fall was broken by the pillows that were scattered on the floor, and he rolled over onto his back and laughed. He felt like a majestic pirate ship that had hit a sandy shore to be laid to her final rest. He spread his arms out to the side, claiming the beach as his, when his fingers brushed against strands of hair slathered in product.

Startled, he craned his neck to see who it was he was sharing his sandy grave with. Right there, sprawled across the pillows on his side with his eyes closed, was Dean. His hand was resting limply near his mouth. It looked like he was going to start sucking his thumb any moment. Cas smiled.

"Dean. Hey, Dean.” He poked Dean’s cheek. "De-ean.”

The lack of response didn’t concern Cas. Dean was fine. But as his mother liked to tell him, he was a responsible young man, and as such, he knew that friends didn’t let friends pass out at parties. So he reached out to shake Dean’s shoulder. "Dean. Aufwachen.” [40]

This time, he was able to provoke a reaction. Dean groaned, his hand coming up to push at Cas’. "No,” he mumbled. "Go ‘way.”

Cas tugged on Dean’s shoulder again. "Wake up, Dean,” he said in English, trying to make communication easier on Dean. "How much have you had?” Dean made another disgruntled sound and reached up to close his fingers around Cas’. His grip was surprisingly strong. Cas gave Dean’s hand a squeeze back. "You're going to feel very bad tomorrow.”

Dean mumbled something unintelligible and tucked Cas’ hand close to his chest. He pulled his knees up and ducked his head down, effectively curling up around their interlaced fingers.

Cas watched him, thoughtful. Dean’s vibe felt unhappy. "What did you say?”

"I want my mom.”

The words came out a little more clearly. Dean’s tone was sad rather than petulant, almost resigned. The clench of sympathy in Cas’ chest didn’t do anything to improve his high, but he didn’t resent it this time. He leaned in closer. "Do you want me to ask Michael if you can use the phone? You could call her.”

Dean shook his head. "Can’t. She’s not home.”

Cas remembered Dean’s picture of his mother that was sitting on his desk back home. It _was_ a little odd that Dean only had a picture of his mother, and not of the rest of his family. He wet his lips, not sure whether he wanted to press the issue even when he asked his next question. "Where is she?”

Dean’s grip tightened, and he curled up a little more as his shoulders came up in a shrug. "Dunno.” At first, Cas thought that was all he was going to get, but after a few moments Dean added, "Do you believe in Heaven?”

"You mean God and angels and all of that?”

"Yeah.”

Cas was quiet for a while as he contemplated the question. "I think so,” he said eventually.

Dean’s body uncurled a little, and he peered up at him. "You don’t sound super sure.”

Cas shrugged. "Something had to create all the energy, right?”

Dean’s expression was hard to make out in the dimness of the room, but in his tone swung stumped confusion. "What?”

"Energieerhaltungssatz,” [41] Cas said. "In physics. The rule that energy can’t come out of nowhere, but also can’t just disappear. But it had to come out of nowhere at some point, right? The best explanation for that is still God.”

Dean was quiet for a few moments. "I thought that was the Big Bang.”

Cas shook his head. "That’s just how the universe was created. Something still had to make it happen.”

Dean didn’t speak or move for a while, and Cas thought that maybe Dean had gone back to sleep. But after a few moments, Dean grunted and curled up more again. "Suppose so. Doesn’t mean Heaven exists.”

Cas didn’t have a good answer to that. Dean’s hand in his was warm but dry, more pleasant than Cas usually considered physical contact to be. He stroked his thumb over Dean’s knuckles, testing at first, but when Dean’s grip didn’t change, his caress grew bolder. "I think it does,” he said. There was a twinge in his chest at admitting something so personal, but he ignored it.

Another long pause followed. The music was too loud for Cas to hear Dean breathing, but he could see the curve of Dean’s back rise and fall. He felt a slight twinge in his shoulder as Dean pulled their hands even closer to his chest. When Dean spoke, his voice was almost too quiet to be heard. "My mom’s in Heaven.”

The admission didn’t come as a surprise. Cas wasn’t a glass-half-full kind of person, so he’d already considered the possibility of Dean’s mother being dead. The way his throat clenched in sympathy was more unexpected. It was an unfamiliar feeling, a change from his usual state of neutrality.

He tightened his grip on Dean’s hand. "When did she die?”

"Last year.” Dean’s voice was little more than a mumble. "She was a cop. She answered a call and there was a guy with a gun.”

Dean’s curled-up body suddenly seemed small next to Cas, a tiny pebble on a beach trying its hardest to bear the constant erosion by the never-ending roll of waves. Cas reached out with his other hand, not sure what to do. His palm landed on Dean’s shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze.

It probably didn’t make up for his lack of response, but he didn’t know what to say. The scenario Dean was talking about Cas only knew from American TV shows, where hot-tempered cops with giant muscle bulges would go head-to-head with gun-toting drug lords, putting their lives on the line to protect crown witnesses and little old ladies who owned corner shops in the Bronx. He had never heard of a real-life police shooting, nor met anyone who’d come in contact with such a thing. Except now Dean.

"I’m sorry,” he muttered eventually. Dean didn’t respond. They lay there for a while, Cas’ hand resting on Dean’s shoulder while Dean held on to his other one. The party around them was still in full swing, the lights flashing to the beat and turning the crowd into a homogeneous mass, like a large, single-cell organism enclosed in an undulating membrane. They weren’t important, though. Right now, only Dean was important. Even if Cas didn’t have any words of comfort, he would protect Dean with his watchfulness.

After a while, though, the hyper-clarity of the weed dispersed, and the basement returned to its normal state of less-than-glamorous shabbiness. The hammering of the music on Cas’ eardrums went from barely noticeable to uncomfortable, and the flashing lights started to make his eyes water. Dean hadn’t moved since they’d finished their conversation. Cas nudged his shoulder. "Hey. Let’s go home?”

Dean grunted and smacked his lips, but didn’t respond. It took a few more nudges to make him come around and get him up on his feet. His gait was anything but steady, so Cas eventually looped his arm around Dean’s waist and led him up the stairs into the courtyard.

Meg was still there, sharing a joint with Balthazar who smirked when Cas waved them goodbye. "Better get the old lady home!” he shouted across the yard, eliciting chuckles from the small crowd of smokers. Cas pulled his lip up in a sneer and waved him off before he guided Dean towards the train station to catch the last train back home.

The walk through the cool October night sobered Dean up a little. When Cas deposited him on one of the blue-and-black train seats, he leaned forward to put his head in his hands. "Cas.” Dean’s voice was slurred and miserable. "I don’t feel very good.”

Cas sat down next to Dean and, after a moment’s hesitation, tugged on the other boy’s wrist until Dean leaned his head against Cas’ shoulder. "I know,” Cas said and rubbed Dean’s forearm. "It’ll be okay. Just try not to throw up on the train.”

Dean gave an unhappy, non-verbal response, but he held out until they’d exited the train at their destination and were walking back towards Cas’ house. Cas waited on the sidewalk as Dean disappeared behind some greenery to relieve himself of his stomach contents. Once they got home, he made Dean drink two glasses of water and tucked him into bed.

He knew he should head off to brush his teeth and go to bed himself, but something kept him standing next to the bed. Dean’s eyes were closed, and his breathing had already slowed down to the deep, relaxed sighs of sleep. Cas glanced over at the picture of Dean’s mother, a smiling woman with her arm around her son, who looked as happy as any kid who didn’t have a care in the world. He hesitated, then lowered his voice to a whisper.

"If you’re sad about your mom, Dean, you can always share mine. She’s nice sometimes. And I think she likes you.” Dean didn’t move or reply. Cas figured he had probably already fallen asleep. He swallowed before continuing and lowered his voice even further. "I like you, too.”

Dean didn’t react. Cas thought that he saw his mouth pull into a small smile, but in the dark of the room, he might have imagined it.

\-----

October turned into November, and Dean learned that Halloween was not a widely celebrated holiday in Germany. A handful of carved pumpkins popped up around the neighborhood, but on the big day, he barely saw any trick-or-treaters roaming the streets, and his worry over the lack of sweets in the house proved unfounded as nobody rang the doorbell to demand any. He was surprised to find himself fairly bummed out that evening. Cas cheered him up by offering a movie night, and didn’t even complain when Dean picked _Halloween_ 4 and 5.

He and Cas did and didn’t share a taste in movies. They both liked guns and car chases and things blowing up, but when Dean sung the praises of the _Terminator_ series, Cas pulled a grimace and named _The Matrix_ as the far superior dystopia. Dean was shocked to find out that Cas had never watched a single Chuck Norris flick, and even more so when Cas still insisted that Jackie Chan had far superior flexibility. They were able to agree that _Rush Hour_ was a pretty great movie, though. Dean even managed to make Cas smile when he imitated Chris Tucker’s dance moves in the _War_ scene.

Leading up to the winter break, Cas’ mood took a downturn as the numbers of tests increased exponentially. Upon his first few weeks attending school with Cas, Dean had been amazed at the sheer quantity of classes that Cas’ schedule covered: into the thirty-six forty-five-minute lessons per week, the school somehow managed to cram fifteen different subjects, from various science and social study classes over music theory, art history, and Phys Ed, to German Lit and three different languages. Dean didn’t think Cas’ workload was that much higher than that of an American high school student, but he got the impression that Germany considered school less a place of learning, and more a place to hand out pointers as to what you should be studying on your own to pass your classes. That was probably what the free afternoons were for—school was done by four-thirty on three days a week, but let out at one on Tuesdays and Fridays.

As the winter break approached, Nagel announced seven major tests for the following few weeks. Balthazar tried to explain to Dean how much each test would influence each student’s end-of-year grade, and while Dean didn’t catch all details, he managed to take away that the kids of 11B had better not screw up if they wanted to proceed to the next year.

For Dean, only the Math test was relevant. His teachers at Jefferson had assigned him readings and essay questions in most of his classes to complete during the exchange, which he would have to mail in to be graded. In Calculus and Chemistry, however, he would have to take the German tests.

He wasn’t too worried about Chemistry—so far, he’d been able to follow along. German Math was a different story. It wasn’t split up into calculus, trig, algebra and all the others; instead, "Mathematics” simply contained everything. So far, Dean hadn’t been able to make rhyme or reason of anything the teacher had scribbled on the chalkboard, and he knew that no amount of studying would help him pass that test. His Calculus grade was screwed.

But there was nothing he could do about that, and as long as he carefully avoided thinking about his Math predicament, the looming threat of the approaching tests didn’t seem so bad.

In mid-November, Naomi taped a rigorous study schedule on the wall next to Cas’ desk. For a while, Cas followed it, but the closer the tests came, the more time Cas seemed to spend playing his computer game rather than reading his textbooks, silent and taciturn as he clicked buttons and pushed his mouse around. Dean watched him one afternoon in mid-December, too fascinated to look away. It was as if the vibes of stubborn anxiety rolling off of Cas were visible, making the air shift and vibrate.

"Hey,” he said eventually, rolling around onto his stomach and putting the book aside that he hadn’t really been reading for the past few minutes.

Cas’ shoulders twitched. "What?”

Dean didn’t really have anything to say. He’d just wanted to make Cas’ shoulders stop migrating up towards his ears. "You want to go do something? Get out of the house?”

"Can’t,” Cas said as he flicked his fingers across the keyboard. "I need to study.”

"Yeah, but you’re not studying.” Cas didn’t say anything, and Dean squirmed on the bed. "Cas, come on. We haven’t left the house except for school in weeks.”

"If you’d like to leave, you know where the door is.”

Dean deflated. This was something he didn’t love about the other kid, this infuriating tendency to be a dismissive jerk. "Fine,” he huffed. "I’m going to see if Jo is free.”

Cas didn’t answer, and Dean stalked off towards the living room where the landline phone was plugged in. Among the four American exchange students, landline phones were the main way of staying in contact. Not that Dean had much contact with the other kids; he and Cain didn’t have much to say to each other, and Benny was a Junior. Jo was the one he was closest to; not so much back at Jefferson, but more so now during the exchange. She was a little high strung, but Dean enjoyed her company. He’d also grown fond of Charlie, Jo’s eccentric host.

Charlie’s number was what he dialed now to ask if the girls were free. They were, so Dean plucked his jacket off the stand in the hallway and shouted a see-you-later in the direction of Cas’ room before he took the stairs two at a time and stepped out into the cold air.

A lot of things in Germany were in walking distance, which meant that since his arrival, Dean had spent a lot of time walking between places. At this point, his feet had stopped aching in protest every night. Dean liked being able to get around so easily; it saved time, gas, and money, and it allowed you to take a stroll through the crisp winter air without feeling like you had to give back your teenager certificate for acting like a middle-aged man.

Twenty minutes later, he rang the doorbell of Charlie’s apartment block. It was situated in a less picturesque part of town than Cas’, on a large, noisy street with black dirt staining the peeling gray paint all the way up to the second floor windows. The first floor, however, was dedicated to an honest-to-god bakery, with a large lady in a white apron behind the counter selling bread, pastries and coffee. It looked homely and welcoming, but Charlie had warned him about bee corpses hiding under the glazed cinnamon rolls, so Dean had never gone inside.

The bell buzzed to let him in. On the third floor, the door of Charlie’s apartment stood open a crack. Dean called down the empty hallway as he kicked off his shoes.

"Hey, guys! Where you at?”

"In the living room!”

The living room was at the end of the long corridor, a small, dimly-lit space with bookshelves lined up along all four walls and an overgrown fish tank crammed into a corner. Charlie’s cat Baghira hissed at Dean as he passed her in the doorway. Dean gave her a wide berth. After a painful run-in with her sharp claws he was now taking Charlie’s warning seriously that Baghira didn’t like boys.

Jo and Charlie were on the couch, huddled close together and peering at the screen of Charlie’s laptop. Dean stepped over the Ethernet cable snaking across the floor just as Jo pointed at something on the screen. Charlie burst out laughing. "What the hell? Who comes up with these things?”

"What’re you guys looking at?” Dean smiled as plonked down in the space between Charlie and the couch’s armrest. 

Charlie pressed even closer into Jo as she made space for Dean. "This website Jo showed me. _If I had a monkey._ ”

Dean craned his neck to catch a glimpse at the screen. "If you had a monkey what?”

Jo and Charlie giggled in unison. "Exactly,” Charlie said, and pointed. "Look.”

The screen was showing a website that looked like it’d been built when the internet was still an internal network on US military servers. On a rainbow-colored backdrop, the grinning clip-art face of a monkey smiled out at the viewer, decorating something titled the "List of Evil”. Dean leaned closer to read one of the items. "If I had a monkey, I would never _ever_ twiddle my monkey's—.” He broke off and felt his cheeks grow warm as Charlie burst out laughing.

"Come on, Dean. You’re allowed to say it.”

Dean felt himself blush harder and sat up, waving his hands at Jo and Charlie. "I’m in the company of _ladies_!”

"Yeah, Dean, and we both have one,” Jo smirked. "Cli-to-ris. It’s almost like saying penis.”

"Both ends in –is,” Charlie said with a shrug, and to Dean’s relief continued scrolling. "They’ve been collecting this since ’98, it’s so cool.”

"And hilarious,” Jo grinned.

Charlie suddenly waved an excited hand. "Oh, you guys, I have to show you something. You’re going to _die_.” She closed her browser and pulled up a folder. "I downloaded this the other day. I was on the floor laughing for hours.”

She double-clicked a file and the screen turned black. Dean was about to ask if the laptop had crashed when a blurry logo swam into focus, accompanied by some badly recorded sound effects. In a high-pitched nasal whine, a narrator opened with the German equivalent of ‘once upon a time’. Between the unusual pitch and the accent, Dean was only able to make out every fourth word, but the title card was pretty unequivocal.

"Dude,” he said. "Is this a _Lord of the Rings_ spoof?”

" _Lord of the Weed_ ,” Charlie read out the title in a reverent whisper. "You have _no idea_ the kind of waves these guys are making on the message boards right now.”

The story, told in jerkily edited footage of the first _Lord of the Rings_ movie and accompanied by sound effects that the amateur voice actors seemed to be uttering themselves, was that of a great weed shortage befalling Middle Earth after Sauron had smoked it all in his mega-bong, a.k.a. Mount Doom. Dean didn’t follow every detail, but Gollum seemed to be wanted by the police, and Gandalf was the biggest pothead out there, toting a car stereo in his wooden carriage that played upbeat electronica. Even though most of it got lost in translation, Dean had to admit it was pretty funny.

His amusement was nothing compared to Charlie’s, though. A few minutes into the clip, she was laughing tears, holding her stomach and gasping for air. It was almost enough to make Dean concerned, but when he tried to make eye contact with Jo, he realized that Jo was laughing as well. She wasn’t watching the clip, though. Her eyes were on Charlie, and she pelted out a new burst of laughter whenever Charlie did, pressing closer to the other girl every time. Dean felt something shift in his chest when he realized the two girls’ fingers were interlaced. They were holding hands.

Maybe girls just did that? Dean’s ex-girlfriend Lisa had told him about practicing kissing with her female best friend in middle school. But the way Jo was basically climbing into Charlie’s lap didn’t seem like practice. Looked like at least one of the exchange students was bonding just fine with her host. Dean couldn’t help a stab of nasty jealousy clenching in his chest.

He forced himself to return his attention to the video, which turned out to be a substantial twenty minutes long. When Charlie closed the window, he shook his head. "Jesus _Christ_. It must’ve taken them _forever_ to do this.”

"Worth it,” Charlie said with emphasis. "This is one for the history books.”

Nothing on the internet was able to top _Lord of the Weed_ , so Charlie put the laptop aside. They wandered into the kitchen for soda and snacks, and before long, the conversation turned to the upcoming tests. When Dean shared his worries about the Math test, Charlie tried to comfort him.

"Nobody has any clue. Especially in Math,” she said, dangling her feet off the counter. "The curriculum this year is crazy. Half the folks in the class don’t even know what a function is, how are they supposed to be able to derive logarithms?”

Dean tried to ignore the sour feeling in his stomach. Even if nobody else knew what they were doing, either, he would still have to take whatever grade he ended up with back to Jefferson. Jo, who was straddling a chair backwards with her arms on the backrest, shook her head. "But they can’t fail the entire class, can they?”

Charlie shook her head. "There are enough kids who’ll make a decent enough grade to get a pass. And the ones who don’t, well.” She shrugged. "Half the point of all the crap they’re throwing at us this year is to weed out the ones who can’t hack it. It’s not like you _have_ to be there, you know?”

Dean glanced over at Jo, but Jo seemed as confused as he was. "What do you mean?”

"Anyone who doesn’t manage a pass, they repeat. But at this point, they can also leave and get a job, or a traineeship.”

Dean frowned. "Without finishing high school?”

"They’ll still have a diploma,” Charlie said. "Once you’ve finished ninth grade, you can take a test and quit. Won’t get you a great job, but as far as school goes, you’re done. Next level is tenth grade, and with that, you can even get a decent job. Eleven through thirteen’s only for the kids who want to go to university.”

"Oh.” Dean tried to wrap his head around the idea of quitting school at barely age sixteen. "So—your entire class, you’re all going to college?”

Charlie shrugged and scooped a handful of peanuts from the pack in her hand. "I guess so, yeah,” she said while chewing. "Everyone who’ll pass. If I do, I’m thinking about getting into, like. Computers. IT. That might be fun. Or become a teacher. Infiltrate the minds of the young.” She bugged her eyes out and wriggled her fingers in what she probably considered a mind-controlling gesture, and Dean huffed a smile.

"How expensive is it?” Jo asked.

Charlie tilted her hand back and forth in a weighing motion. "Well, you have to pay for a place to live and stuff. And with classes, you won’t have much time for a job.”

"What about tuition?”

"Tuition?” Charlie looked confused.

"You know,” Jo said. "Money you pay for classes. To attend them.”

"Oh.” Charlie shook her head. "You don’t pay anything for classes. They’re free.”

The words were followed by a stunned silence. Dean, who’d been picking at a splinter in the chair’s backrest, raised his head to stare at Charlie. "They’re _free_?”

Charlie looked back and forth between him and Jo. "Um. Yeah,” she said. "Why? How much is it in the States?”

Dean frowned as he added the numbers in his head. "It’s, like—anything above six thousand bucks a year. And that’s just community college. If you want to go to a better school, it’s really expensive.”

"Seventy thousand,” Jo volunteered as she tilted her chair back on its hind legs. "John Hopkins, pre-med. Out-of-state for one year is seventy thousand bucks.”

Charlie stared at her, then back at Dean, lips twitching in a disbelieving smile. "You’re shitting me, right?”

"No,” Dean said. "That sounds about right. John Hopkins is a really good school.”

"That’s crazy!” Charlie threw up her hands. "That’s like buying a new car every year!”

Dean had never thought about it that way. It was school, and school cost money. He’d always known that for him, it’d be community college, or more likely a job straight out of high school. He'd even spoken to Bobby Singer already about starting at Singer Auto after graduation. According to his dad, getting hands-on experience was better than any college degree, anyway.

Charlie shook her head and shoveled more peanuts into her mouth. "How do they expect people to pay that kind of money? I’d have to ask my dad for it, and even he couldn’t just drop seventy thousand dollars on me. I’d have to go work at McDonald’s, or something.”

Jo nodded. "It sucks. I actually got early acceptance into John Hopkins, but the tuition’s just too high. I’m probably going to have to go to some no-name school in Kansas. Jo Harvelle, MD, with a degree from Nobody-Gives-A-Fuck University.”

Dean grunted in sympathy. "Didn’t know you wanted to become a doctor.”

Jo shrugged. "I like helping people. Though I’m thinking about vet school, too. Dogs and cats at least don’t care if you went to John Hopkins or not.”

Charlie laughed, and Dean smiled as well. He held out his hand, and Charlie handed him the peanuts. "So what about you, Dean?” she asked. "Do you know where you’re going to go?”

"Mhm?” Dean dug his fingers into the bag as he tried to scrape out the last of the nuts and shook his head. "No. I haven’t even taken the SAT yet. Don’t think I will. I’m not really college material.”

Jo frowned. "You realize that you’re never going to make any money without a degree, right?”

"Not going to lose a ton in tuition, either,” he said with a smirk, and Jo rolled her eyes. Charlie was about to add her two cents when the phone rang in the corridor. She jumped off the counter and grabbed the doorframe to lean out of the kitchen and fish for the receiver.

"Charlie Bradbury?” She listened, nodded, spoke a couple of rapid-fire sentences in German, then hung up. "Dean, Jo and I got to go.” She beamed an excited grin at Jo. "Axel’s free _right now_ , he said that if we’re there in ten, he can do both of us today!”

It seemed to be exciting news, as Jo’s face lit up as well. "Oh my God!” She jumped to her feet. "I can’t wait to send my mom pictures. She’ll _lose_ it!”

Dean looked back and forth between the two girls. "What’s happening?”

"We’re getting—"

"It’s a surprise!” Charlie interrupted Jo, waving her hands to shush her. "You’re coming tomorrow, right?”

"What’s tomorrow?”

"Christmas market?”

Dean shook his head to indicate that was the first he heard about it, and Charlie let out a sigh. "I emailed Cas like four days ago. We’re all going into the city for the Christmas market tomorrow, hosts and exchange students. You are not allowed to not have time.”

"I think we’re free,” Dean said. He followed Charlie and Jo into the corridor to find his shoes and coat. "If Cas tries to wriggle out, I will make him come. He hasn’t left the house in days.”

"He can be so anti-social,” Charlie said.

Dean snorted as he laced up his boots, but the comment rang too true to be genuinely funny. Cas was and wasn’t anti-social; he could hit any point on that spectrum at any time, and you never knew what you were going to get. It was extremely confusing. "Yeah, no kidding.”

The three of them left the house together. Dean waved the girls goodbye as they set off on their bikes to see the mysterious Axel. He lingered outside the bakery for a few moments, taking in the mouth-watering display of cream cakes and other pastries and wondering if any dead insects were hiding underneath. Eventually, he tore himself away and set off towards home.

* * *

[29] A wonderful morning, dear fellow students./ Welcome to our great country! Not at great as yours, but at least we’re not France. How’s it hanging? [back to fic]  
[30] It’s going all right. [back to fic]  
[31] Hannah’s American apparently strictly refuses to speak a single word. [back to fic]  
[32] Dean didn’t really want to at first, either. Don’t really know why, though. His German’s not bad. [back to fic]  
[33] Cas just made you a compliment. That happens basically never. It’ll be a Heiratsantrag next. [back to fic]  
[34] What’s Heiratsantrag? [back to fic]  
[35] Sit down, Schwuchtel! [back to fic]  
[36] No comments from the peanut gallery! [back to fic]  
[37] Sit down already. [back to fic]  
[38] Philistines. [back to fic]  
[39] Glad we could clear that up. Please excuse me now, [back to fic]  
[40] Wake up. [back to fic]  
[41] Law of conservation of energy. [back to fic]


	3. Chapter 3

Dean came back about three hours after he left. Cas felt the muscles in his back tighten when he heard Dean’s key in the door, and resisted the urge to quickly turn off _Warcraft_ and pretend to be reading his Latin textbook. Resentment curled in his chest. Dean wasn’t his mom. Dean shouldn’t care if he was studying or not.

The look Dean gave the computer screen when he entered the room still spoke volumes. He made a beeline for his own textbooks that he kept stacked in a corner and took them over to the bed. The way he sat down with his legs crossed to open one of them in his lap was incredibly demonstrative.

Cas was trapped now, caught between closing the game and sticking his nose into his books as well—probably the smart thing to do, but it felt like an admission of weakness—and continuing to ignore Dean.

As he was still trying to decide what to do, Dean cleared his throat in the way people did when they were about to start a fight. "So Charlie told me she sent you an email a few days ago."

That statement didn’t require an answer, so Cas didn’t grace it with one.

"Cas," Dean said. Judging by his tone, he disagreed about the answer. "Did you get an email from Charlie about going to the Christmas market this Saturday?"

Cas shrugged and paused the game. "I don’t know. Maybe."

"Maybe? It’s an email. Either you got it, or you didn’t."

Cas held very still for a moment, two opposite urges fighting in his chest. Part of him wanted to keep blowing Dean off until Dean backed away, stopped asking questions and just left Cas alone. Another part of him balked at the idea. He didn’t really want Dean to leave him alone.

Eventually, he sighed and let himself fall back into his chair. His back connected with the backrest harder than intended, and he suppressed a wince. "I got it."

Dean was staring at him. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t look as angry as his voice sounded. Mostly, Dean looked confused, maybe a little freaked out. It made something in Cas’ chest shift. "So?"

"So what?"

"So why didn’t you say something? Everyone’s going, Cas."

Cas shifted his eyes away. "I didn’t think it was important."

"Right." Dean’s voice was brittle. He almost sounded hurt. "Not as important as your stupid game, right? You realize—" Cas looked up when Dean didn’t continue to see that Dean was still staring at him. His adam’s apple bounced up and down as he swallowed. "You realize that you’re it for me, right? I don’t _know_ anyone else."

Cas narrowed his eyes in confusion. "You know Charlie. And Jo. And Cain and—my mom."

"I don’t hang out with them all day!" Dean slammed his book shut. "It _sucks_ to have the person you spend most of your time with be super hot and cold all the time. I never know if I’m going to get nice Cas or—" Dean waved a hand at him. "Or jerk Cas."

Cas stared at Dean, lost for words. He’d never been good with emotional outbursts. Before Gabe moved away to college, he would have them occasionally, doors slamming and feet stomping through the apartment as Gabe yelled about all the ways he’d been wronged by the world. It had always made Cas uncomfortable. But with Gabe, nine times out of ten Gabe was blowing things out of proportion. With Dean right now, Cas suspected he probably had a point.

"Forget it," Dean said, apparently unwilling to wait for Cas to put together a response. "Just—go back to playing your game, if it’s so fucking important."

The textbook thumped to the floor as Dean shoved off the bed and stomped across the room. The door fell shut behind him, and Cas’ stomach twisted into a knot. People were so _complicated_.

\-----

If the study had a lock, Dean would have locked the door behind him. The way his eyes were burning was embarrassing, but he was almost too angry to care. Cas was such an asshole. Except when he wasn’t, but that somehow made it worse.

He dropped into the chair in front of the computer and put his face in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to leave. Pack up his things, find someone to drive him to the airport and go home. Except he wouldn’t be welcome there, either. Dad didn’t want him around, and Sam was busy with his own crap. Dean was on his own; had been since he arrived. He thought he would get through it somehow, maybe even like it a little, but right now, the thought of another four months in this place made him feel like wanting to die.

There was a knock on the door. Dean’s shoulders tensed. "Go away!"

"Dean," Cas’ voice came from the corridor. "Are you crying?"

Dean wiped his hand over his eyes. "No!"

"Okay." Cas sounded infuriatingly calm. "Can I come in, then?"

"So if I was crying, you weren’t going to?" Dean shook his head, exasperated. "What do you want?"

The silence from the other side of the door lasted for a while. When Cas eventually spoke up, he sounded uncertain. "I don’t know. I—I’m sorry if I’ve made you upset."

Dean took a deep breath, palms on the desk in front of him as he gathered himself. Two steps brought him over to the door. He pulled it open to a view of Cas’ contrite face. The expression took some of the wind out of his sails. Cas looked genuinely apologetic. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the sharp rejection on the tip of his tongue. Left with nothing to say, he and Cas just stared at each other until Cas eventually tilted his head. "Uh. Can I come in?"

"Fine." Dean pushed the door open all the way and retreated back to the desk chair. He pulled his feet up onto the seat and hugged his knees. "I’m not upset."

Cas stood across from him, slightly awkward as he leaned against one of the bookshelves. "You’re not?"

"No," Dean said, defiant. He didn’t care what it looked like, he wasn’t upset. Not really. "I’m pissed. You’re being a huge jerk, for no reason."

"I’m sorry," Cas volunteered again, if anything sounding even more penitent than earlier.

"But _why_?" Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas. "You’re—you can be a really cool person, if you want to. You’re smart, you’re fun to talk to—when you want to be. I don’t get why half the time, you’re acting like a huge asshole. Like you don’t give a shit. It’s not _true_ , is it?"

Cas’ eyes dropped down to his feet as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "It’s true about some things. But—not about you. I do, uh. Give a shit. About you."

As much as Cas was talking to his feet, his tone was earnest enough. His words made something shift in Dean’s chest, a heavy weight that had settled underneath his sternum about a year ago, around the time when he started to routinely have to collect his dad’s drunk ass off the couch and into bed. Cas was saying that he cared about him. And Cas sounded like maybe he actually did. "Then why do you act like that?" Dean was grateful that most of the emotion he was feeling didn’t show in his voice.

Cas shrugged. "I don’t know. I’ve been kind of stressed out. There’s just—there’s a lot of stuff going on."

"The tests, you mean?"

Cas nodded. "Yeah. But also—"

Dean waited. When Cas didn’t continue on his own, he asked, "What?"

Cas threw him an unreadable glance. "I don’t know what to do with someone—being around. All the time."

"You—" Dean swallowed. "You don’t like having me around?"

Cas’ expression changed from anxious to disgruntled. "No, Dean. You—I don’t mind your company."

"But you just said—"

"I said I don’t know what to do with you being there all the time. In case you hadn’t noticed, I—" Cas shrugged, his eyebrows pulling together. "I’m usually on my own. My mom’s at work, and Gabe moved out four years ago. I make lunch, and I do my homework, and I’m just—on my own. Except when you’re here, I’m not."

"And you'd rather be?"

Cas shook his head. "It's nice to have someone around." A blush crept up Cas’ cheeks and he stared down at his shoes again. "Most of the people I talk to are, you know. On the internet. But I'm not used to it, I guess. I don't like feeling like I have to play host all the time. I'm not a very good host."

Dean was quiet for a few moments. Fact was that Cas was more an introverted type; it didn't take a degree in psychology to notice that. But Dean had never thought about what that would mean for having to share your room, your time, and your life with someone you barely knew for six months. Considering that, maybe the mixed signals made a little more sense.

He didn’t have an easy solution, though. "So do you—um." He frowned. "Do you want me to, like. Give you a few hours of alone-time every day?" The idea didn’t sound great to him. As much as Cas seemed to find being around people exhausting, Dean really didn’t like spending time alone. But if Cas needed time by himself to avoid being a dick—

But Cas was shaking his head. "I told you, it’s nice to have someone around. Or—you. You’re good company." Cas shuffled his feet, seeming embarrassed by that admission. He shrugged. "I just don’t want to _do_ things all the time. You know?"

"Do things?"

Cas exhaled. "You want to _do_ things all the time. Or—my mom wants me to do things with you. Show you around. See the sights. Go to the Christmas market." Cas’ eyes narrowed in annoyance, but for a change, Dean was reasonably sure it wasn’t directed at him. "I don’t know anything about the sights. I don’t want to be a host. I like—I like hanging out with you. But I don’t like hosting you."

Dean thought about that for a moment. If that really was the problem, then the solution seemed pretty simple. "Then don’t host me," he said as he pulled his shoulders up in a shrug. "I don’t want that, anyway. If there are any sights that need seeing, I’m sure the school will take us sooner or later. For the time I’m spending with you—" Dean paused as he tried to find the right words. "I’d just like to hang out, man. Get to know you. And by extension your country, I guess. But primarily you."

Cas eyed him with the suspicious expression of a man who'd just been told that his life sentence got reduced to ten hours community service due to a technicality. "Okay," he said eventually. After a pause he added, "I’m sorry about being unfriendly."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well," he said. "Just don’t do it again."

As Cas nodded, Dean thought he could see a small smile tugging on the corners of Cas’ lips. It gave his expression a self-satisfied twist, which Dean was surprised to find himself both annoyed and endeared by. "All right," Cas said. "We can go to the Christmas market tomorrow, if you like. I just don’t want to show you around."

"There will be no showing around," Dean said and pushed to his feet to make a beeline for the kitchen. The conversation had made him hungry. "I’ll show _you_ around. How’s that for a twist?"

"That would be acceptable." Cas’ lips had settled back into their familiar line, but Dean thought he could still see a glint of smugness in his eyes.

\-----

The promise Dean had made about showing Cas around the city had been a casual, spur-of-the-moment thing. Cas, however, seemed to have taken it at face value. The growing awareness that he knew nothing about Munich sat like a nagging pebble in the back of Dean’s mind, so when Cas finally buried himself in his textbooks that evening, Dean went digging through his suitcase. He pulled out the travel guide that Sam had given him as a going-away gift. At the time, the present had brought tears to his eyes—he’d been upset about having to leave, and Sam giving him a book, of all things, was so quintessential Sam that it had made him miss his brother before he’d even left the country. He’d shoved the guide into a side pocket of his suitcase and tried to forget about it.

It came in very handy now. Between the book and a casual question to Naomi about the seasonal sights in the city, when they set out the next day he felt pretty well prepared to play tour guide for Cas.

At first, though, their group was too large to allow for much tour guiding. Dean and Cas met Charlie and Jo at the train station, where Dean found out that the surprise Charlie had promised were a new set of matching pixie haircuts on her and Jo, in Jo’s case complete with blue and pink highlights. Dean didn’t have to lie when he told them they looked great.

Benny and Ava joined them, and two stops down the line Hannah and Cain got on. They piled out of the train at the subway stop near the Christmas market, a gaggle of eight teenagers conversing loudly in English, German, non-verbal shouts and laughter. Dean challenged Cas to a backwards race up the downwards escalator and lost miserably when Cas leapt past him in huge, ambitious steps. When Dean and the rest of the group arrived at the top, Cas was waiting for them, panting and smirking. Dean clapped a hand on his back and let it linger for a little longer than necessary as they made their way out of the station.

The Christmas market was set up in the center of the city, rickety wooden stalls balancing on cobblestone slippery with melting patches of snow. When they turned the corner onto the market square, Dean couldn’t help a joyous whoop of excitement. It earned him laughter from the rest of the group and an amicable shove from Charlie, but Dean didn’t care. The cozy market stands soaked in the warm light from a Christmas tree as tall as the surrounding buildings, the sound of Christmas carols and the mouth-watering smell of spices and sweets and grilled sausage—it was like an old-fashioned postcard drawing, only better. He nudged his shoulder into Cas’ and jogged over to the first stall.

"Look at this stuff!"

The display area was covered in wooden animal figurines in all shapes and sizes. Dean picked up a tiny cat whose ears were attached to its head with thin wire. As it sat in his palm, the smallest tremors made them vibrate, giving the toy an uncanny life-like appearance.

"Oh, these are great," Hannah said as she came up next to him. She and Dean hadn’t spoken much so far beyond exchanging the occasional line at school. Dean knew from Cas that she was wicked smart, and was probably going to become a psychologist. He’d also watched her struggle to engage Cain in a conversation, who even now was standing a few feet away from the group with his hands buried in his coat pockets.

"Aren’t they?" Dean smiled. "It’s so simple, but it looks so cool."

"They sell them every year," Hannah explained. "They have little bugs, too, with wriggly legs that shake when you pick them up."

Cas might like that. Dean filed the idea away for later and re-joined the group which had gathered near a drinks stand.

Charlie waved her hand to get everyone’s attention. "Who wants some mulled wine?" 

Two minutes later, each of them was holding a mug with steaming hot liquid. A heady smell wafted up into Dean’s face, making his head spin as he stuck his nose into the fumes. Considering the early hour, he'd expected the drink to be non-alcoholic, but his first sip proved him wrong. None of the others seemed bothered, though. 

"Not to tell a country how to run their business," Benny said as he inhaled a noseful of spicy aroma, "but if you considered exporting this, I’m sure you’d find some high demand markets out there." He grinned. "You got yourself at least one die-hard loyal customer right here."

"Make that two," Dean agreed.

Ava grinned and licked purple wine stains off her lips. "You should keep the mug! People do all the time, as a souvenir."

Dean lifted the mug to inspect it. It was a fairly run-of-the-mill model, except for the image imprinted on it, which showed a simplified drawing of the market, complete with the giant Christmas tree, the market stands, and the year— _Münchner Christkindlmarkt 2003_. He smiled and glanced at Cas. "You should keep yours. To remember when I showed you the city."

They wandered around between the market stalls for a while, inspecting each vendor’s goods and making their gift and souvenir picks. Dean found a blue-and-orange scarf for Sam, hoping it wouldn’t be Sam’s only gift this year. Dad could be forgetful, but he wouldn’t forget Christmas, right? At least not Sam’s presents. Dad would probably forget to call Dean, but Dean would rather Dad focused on Sam, anyway. He fingered the scarf, hoping that the soft texture would make up some for the hugs Sam was missing out on this year.

Finding a present for Dad was much harder. Dad wasn’t exactly a Christmas cheer kind of person, and buying gifts for him had always been difficult. Mom used to make suggestions, help pick out the right color tie or the right wrench model. It was still hard to tell if Dad liked the gift because of the gift, or because Mom had told him to smile and act excited. But last year, the first Christmas they’d celebrated without Mom, Dad hadn’t even unwrapped his presents. He’d just sat on the couch and had gotten steadily more drunk over the course of the day.

There was more than one stand selling fine spirits and wines, and Dean thought for a bitter moment that he’d probably make Dad happiest if he sent him one of those bottles. Eventually, though, he settled on a wooden nutcracker whose coat was painted red and green. It was an intricate piece of handiwork, and Dean hoped that Dad would find some appreciation for the woodworking skill that had gone into it.

A few more purchases reduced his budget to just enough to cover a lunch of sweet Belgian waffles. They were soaked in melting whipped cream and smelled of sugar and happiness.

The crowd started to grow thicker after lunch, and with another round of mulled wine, the group concluded their day at the market. When Hannah began to herd everyone back to the subway—she’d become the unofficial responsible adult on their outing—Dean and Cas excused themselves.

"We have some stuff planned for the afternoon," Dean explained. "See you guys on Monday!"

They waved the others off and watched them disappear between the stalls. Dean felt a twinge of anxiety in his stomach. After the fight with Cas the day before, he really wanted the next few hours to go well. He turned to smile at Cas. "You ready for the second half of the day?"

Cas, his cheeks flushed with the cold and the wine, eyed him attentively. "What do you have planned?"

"It’s a surprise. Come on!"

He grabbed the sleeve of Cas’ jacket to steer him in the opposite direction of where the others had disappeared into. After weaving past a few stalls, they cleared the market area and emerged onto a wide pedestrian street, lined left and right with tall, historical buildings. The ground floors were dedicated to a range of shops, displaying clothes and shoes and other luxury goods in the big windows.

"Okay," Dean said, trying to recall the details from the tour guide. "This is the main shopping drag, right? Bet you’ve never seen it look any different than this."

Cas, who was following close behind, shook his head. "It’s always been just this," he said. "My mom used to make me come here to buy shoes and things."

"They only turned it into a pedestrian zone in something like the early seventies," Dean said, quoting from memory. "Before that, it was one of the busiest streets in the entire city, pretty much ever since it was built. Guess when this street’s first historical mention was?"

Dean wasn’t sure if Cas even cared about the history of his city’s main shopping street, but Cas’ attention seemed rapt enough. He shook his head. "No idea."

"It was in the early twelve-hundreds," Dean said. "Twelve hundred thirty-nine. That means that this street’s been here for at least seven hundred years!"

When Dean discovered that tidbit in the travel guide, he had to re-read it a few times to make sure it wasn’t a misprint. He knew, of course, that European cities were much older than most American ones, but having numbers to attach to that fact was another thing.

Cas was inspecting the houses with a thoughtful look. "How old are they?" he asked. "They don’t look like they’re from the thirteenth century."

Dean shook his head. "They’re not. A bunch of rich merchant families built them something like two-hundred years ago. A lot of it also got destroyed in World War Two and then rebuilt. The oldest bits still standing are the gates," he added and pointed at the tall stone arch that spanned the street behind them. "They’re part of the old city wall."

"So people used to live here?" Cas squinted up at the castellated facades. "That’s a pretty big house for just one family to live in."

"Imagine, though." Dean grinned. "You’re this super rich merchant who’s made a ton of money selling—I don’t know what they sold here. Beer, maybe. And you build yourself a house like that, and then you move in, and you have like five rooms to yourself, and that’s just you. Each of your kids has a room, and your wife has one for sewing and all the crap women had to do back then. And then you’re probably keeping a couple of concubines around. And an entire floor of servants."

Cas was eying him, the smile slightly more than a hint now. "Is that the kind of life you’d want? Kids and servants and concubines?"

Dean shrugged. "I don’t know about the concubines." He looked up at the house they were passing, a mid-eighteen-hundreds monstrosity with an arched underpass leading pedestrians along the shop windows. "When you need concubines, I always figured that means something’s off about your marriage. Shouldn’t the person you’ve decided to spend your life with be enough to make you happy?"

Cas nodded slowly. "I think so." His brow creased in contemplation. "But maybe it’s not always that easy. Maybe the person you married wasn’t the person you would’ve wanted to spend your life with if it had been up to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—" Cas scuffed his soles against the cobblestone. "Not everyone can marry the people they love, right? Even nowadays, sometimes that’s just not possible."

Dean felt something shift in his chest. "I don’t really know what you mean," he evaded. His tone earned him a reproachful glare.

"Yes you do, Dean. Gay people, for example. They can’t get married, right?"

Dean swallowed, his throat parched. "I, uh. I guess. They can still date, though."

"Not always." Cas had shifted his eyes away and was trailing them over the shop fronts across the street. "And if they do, someone is probably giving them shit about it."

Dean nodded, his chest tight. He kicked his boot against the edge of a cobblestone. "That’s bullshit, though," he said, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up. "Isn’t it? People should just leave them alone."

"I would agree."

Dean glanced up to find Cas watching him. Cas’ expression was stoic as always, but Dean had gotten better at paying attention to the smallest clues. Right now, he noticed that Cas’ forehead was smoothed out, no dubious or annoyed creases, and his eyes were wide, not narrowed in the standard suspicious squint. His mouth was relaxed, lips pursed the tiniest bit. Cas looked open, almost questioning. 

Shit. Just _ask_ , Cas. But Dean knew that Cas never would. Because he knew that _he_ never would.

He dug his fingernails into his palm, tension needing an outlet. "Cas—"

He had no idea what he was going to say. Cas watched him expectantly, but when Dean’s words stayed stalled in the back of his throat, eventually Cas tilted his head, his expression soft. "Are we still doing the surprise you said you had?"

"Yes!" Dean nodded, smiling in relief as he remembered that an entire afternoon of spending time with Cas still lay ahead of him. "Come on." He tugged on Cas’ arm, his coat scuffing against the thick fabric of Cas’ jacket as their shoulders brushed together. "History lesson’s over, time for the highlight."

\-----

Cas let Dean drag him down the big street, past shops and groves of other pedestrians towards another one of the big city gates which led out onto another big square. Like everything else, it was covered in Christmas decorations. Big light garlands in the shape of shooting stars were mounted on the lamp posts that lined the square in a half circle. It was late enough in the afternoon so dusk had set in, and the garlands created a softly glowing afterthought just underneath each bright street lamp.

In the center of the square, a wooden set-up housed a temporary skating rink. Speakers mounted on each corner were playing Christmas carols, and the outer walls housed more stands selling mulled wine, sausages, crepes, and other Christmas food.

"Dean," Cas said. "Dean, are we going skating?"

"We are!" Dean was heading for a stand where a bearded man was handing out skates to customers. As he threw a glance over his shoulder, Cas saw that he was beaming from ear to ear.

Dean’s excitement was infectious. Cas didn’t mind skating, hated it a lot less than many of the other types of sports Phys Ed had put him through, but he was by no means an enthusiast. Except right now, the smile he felt growing on his face was probably wide enough to match Dean’s.

The bearded man seemed to have no trouble understanding Dean’s heavily accented, but at this point largely correct German. After some back and forth about shoe sizes—turned out Dean’s American size eleven translated to a German size forty-three—Dean had procured a pair of borrowed skates for each of them. A few minutes later, Cas was clunking on heavy skates towards the rink entrance, Dean right behind him.

They laughed and flailed as they stumbled onto the ice and held on to each other for balance as they took a few unsteady moments to find their footing. Once Cas was reasonably sure his feet weren’t going to fly out from under him, he tried to pull back. Dean, however, was holding on with an iron grip.

"Cas," he said, wearing the exhilarated-yet-freaked-out expression of a man realizing he may have overestimated himself. "I haven’t thought this through."

Cas took in Dean’s flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, and the awkward way he was holding himself, as if he were a circus elephant standing on a beach ball. "You’ve never done this," he said, more statement than question.

"Nope," Dean said, his grip on Cas’ arm tightening. "I figured how hard could it be?"

The apologetic upwards twist of Dean lips made Cas roll his eyes, but he couldn’t suppress a smile. "It’s not that hard. You just need to stand up straight."

"I am!"

The statement was so untrue it was almost comical. Dean’s knees were pressed together, his ankles tilted inwards and his butt sticking out as he was trying to keep his balance. Cas shook his head. "No. Straighten your ankles. Like this."

They spent the next few minutes practicing standing upright, and then another few minutes on Cas convincing Dean to try and lift his foot to start skating. Eventually, Dean did, giddy and excited and still visibly freaked out as he slid across a few inches of ice.

"Shit!" he laughed. "It’s really slippery!"

"Well, it is ice," Cas commented, holding on to Dean’s elbow to help him keep his balance. He almost failed when Dean cracked up. He scrambled to keep Dean upright, which just made Dean laugh harder. Cas couldn’t help but join in as he flailed his arms to stay on his feet. Dean’s laughter was hard to resist.

"What?" he gasped, and Dean shook his head.

"No—nothing." He swallowed as he finally got himself under control. "Just you. So are we doing this?"

They did do it, crept around the rink hand-in-hand at a snail’s pace while other skaters whooshed past them. On the second round, Dean’s footing grew more secure, and on the third, he let go of Cas. The twinge of regret Cas felt was made up by seeing Dean’s excitement at being able to skate on his own.

"Wooh-hoo!" He picked up some moderate speed and let himself glide along on both skates, spreading his arms like Kate Winslet on the _Titanic_. "Cas, watch me go!"

"I am," Cas said, probably too quiet for Dean to hear as Dean had moved ahead a few paces. Tight fondness curled hard in his chest. He raised his voice. "You’re a quick learner!"

Dean twisted his head around to catch Cas’ words. Cas had no time to shout a warning before Dean barreled chest-first into another skater crossing in from the side. His feet flew out from under him and his ass came down hard on the ice. Cas cringed at the thud. "Dean!"

He picked up speed and came to a less than graceful stop next to Dean and the other skater, a woman in her mid-twenties who had managed to stay on her feet.

"I am so sorry!" she said in German. "I didn’t see you!"

"It’s fine," Dean waved her off, rejecting the hand she was offering him. Dean’s pained grimace belied his words, and Cas threw the woman a narrow-eyed glare.

"You should watch where you’re skating," he said, pushing in front of her. She backed away, muttering another apology, but Cas didn’t pay her any more attention. "Dean, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I’m fine," Dean said again, this time accepting the offered hand Cas held out. "Just banged my tailbone, that’s all."

Cas winced in sympathy. "Does it hurt a lot? They can break, you know."

Dean let himself be hoisted back to his feet and huffed a laugh. "Yes, I know. It’s not broken, just bruised." He arched his back, and Cas narrowed his eyes as he saw Dean wince. Dean’s smile grew soft. "I’m okay, Cas. You want to go around once more?"

"All right," Cas said after a moment’s hesitance. "But don’t let go of me."

He took Dean’s hand in his own, ignoring Dean’s protests. They weren’t very insistent, anyway. After half a lap around the rink, Dean’s confidence returned, and Cas was able to relax again. They didn’t stop holding hands, though.

Twenty minutes later, growling stomachs drove them off the ice and back to where they’d left their shoes. Dean sat down right next to Cas on the bench as he pulled his boots back on, his body heat radiating comfortable warmth. They returned the skates and ended up wandering around the square, trying to pick out the stand with the most delicious-looking food. Cas found himself burying his hands in his coat pockets to keep them from reaching for Dean’s. Holding hands on the rink had felt right, and Cas had a hard time convincing himself it wouldn’t feel the same off the ice.

They ended up with grilled sausages for dinner, Dean’s in a bun and Cas’ on a plate with a side of potato salad. Watching Dean eat was a pleasure in and of itself; he made blissful noises and shamelessly stuck out his tongue to lick drops of grease off his fingers and chin.

"You guys know how to do meat," he said with his mouth full, elbows on the wooden table that was part of a seating area overlooking the rink. "Back home we still get the best burgers, but German sausages? Man."

Cas took a bite of potato salad. "You know that burger is German, right? Well, hamburger is."

Dean stopped chewing, mouth still full, to squint. "It is not."

"Of course it is. It means ‘person from Hamburg’."

"Yeah, but that doesn’t mean hamburger, as in, the food, has anything to do with Germany." Dean finished chewing and swallowed. "Hamburgers were invented in America."

"America has a lot of German immigrants." Cas picked up a sausage to take a bite. "Maybe a guy who immigrated from Hamburg invented them."

"Still an American invention, then." Dean shrugged. "Don’t be greedy, man. You’ve got all the great stuff. Great cars, great sausages—" Dean waved his bun, grease dripping onto the napkin in front of him. "Let us have the hamburgers."

Cas acquiesced, smiling, and tucked in himself, finishing his plate in record time. Afterwards, they just sat there for a while, watching the skaters turn into dark silhouettes as the last of the daylight disappeared. The only illumination that remained were the Christmas lights, setting everything awash in a soft orange glow.

"I wish we could do this every day."

Dean’s voice was quiet, almost somber. Cas felt something brush against his hand on the table and glanced down to see Dean’s fingers reaching for his own. He swallowed, stroking the tip of his index finger lightly over the back of Dean’s hand, and nodded. "Yeah. It’s really—" _Like nothing I’ve ever felt or done before_. "It’s really nice."

The silence that followed was one of those rare ones that didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable. It was filled with the silent exchange of their hands on the table, light touches of callouses and skin against each other. When Dean’s hand eventually wrapped around Cas’ more firmly, Cas looked up, unsure what it meant. Maybe Dean wanted to leave. He barely had time to meet Dean’s eyes before Dean half-rose from the bench and pressed a kiss to Cas’ lips.

The world stopped. Technically, the kiss didn’t take longer than a moment, but to Cas, the moment felt like eons. Dean’s lips were cold, dry on the outside, then damper as they pursed against Cas’ mouth. The sensation was odd, but _interesting_ , and then the moment wasn’t long enough after all because Dean was already pulling back again.

"No!" Cas reached for Dean’s lapel before he could stop himself. Dean’s wide, freaked-out eyes made him calm his tone, but he didn’t let go. "Keep going," he said. "Please?"

Cas had never kissed anyone before. That made this his first kiss, a detached part of his brain registered as Dean leaned in again. He opened his mouth a little, trying to get closer. Dean was warm now, his lips not dry anymore but pleasantly supple against Cas’, and Cas slid his hand up behind Dean’s neck to steady Dean’s head that kept trying to move away from him.

Dean’s muffled protests made him pull back. "What?" But Cas realized what the problem was even before Dean said anything. Dean was wedged awkwardly between the bench and the table, his thighs trapped underneath the edge as he leaned forward as far as he could. It looked extremely uncomfortable. "Oh!" He let go of Dean as he scrambled to his feet. "Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t—"

"Shut up," Dean said with a smile. He’d somehow managed to get himself off the bench in no time, and was settling on top of the table, feet resting where Cas had been sitting moments ago. "Come here?"

After a moment’s hesitation, Cas planted his knees between Dean’s feet. It allowed him to wrap his arms around Dean, and Dean promptly pulled him into another kiss.

The anxiety from a moment ago was gone within seconds. There was just Dean, Dean’s mouth, the feeling of Dean’s tongue as it softly brushed against his lip. It sent a spark right through Cas, straight into his groin. He made a guttural sound and opened his mouth further, using his tongue to try to get Dean to use his again.

The kiss lasted for a while this time. Cas’ heart in his chest thumped harder with every moment, the urge in his crotch getting more intense. He’d never done anything like this, had never even held hands with anyone—except Dean less than half an hour ago, he realized—but if this was what just _kissing_ was like . . .

But then Dean pulled back. Cas made a protesting sound and tried to follow Dean’s mouth, but Dean cupped a hand over his cheek, gently stopping him.

"Cas," he said, his voice husky and rough in a way that did nothing to settle the tingling in Cas’ nerves. "Cas, we got to slow down. We’re out in public. Everyone can see us."

If it hadn’t been for the regret in Dean’s voice, the words would have annoyed Cas. As it was, he understood Dean’s point, if grudgingly. He swallowed and pulled back more, standing back up on his feet to avoid overbalancing.

It put him and Dean at eye level. Dean’s face was hard to make out in the semi-darkness, but his eyes were bright, and his breath came past full lips in opaque, misty wisps. Cas found it very difficult to look away.

"Jesus." Dean laughed a little. His hand wrapped around Cas’, and Cas squeezed back. "I didn’t—I didn’t know if you’d go for this."

"I do," Cas said. "I did. I do."

Dean laughed again, a clear, bright sound in the darkness of the evening. "You definitely did. I—" Dean moved, and Cas stepped back to give him space to hop off the table. They stood in front of each other, bodies close, Dean’s breath warm and humid against Cas’ face and neck. Dean’s voice was low when he spoke. "I’d like to go home and continue this in your room. You up for that?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Cas tugged on Dean’s hand that he was still holding. "Come on."

\-----

When they got home, Naomi was out on her usual Saturday-afternoon shopping run. Dean quickly shed his jacket and shoes. He pushed after Cas into their room, his hands already on the back of Cas’ hoodie, fingers cupping the ridge of muscle at the joint of neck and shoulder.

He wanted to touch Cas everywhere, find out what every part of Cas’ body looked like, felt like. Most of all, he wanted to press his mouth against Cas’ lips again, recreate the happy, tingly excitement from earlier. Cas had kissed him back. Dean still couldn’t believe his incredible, dumb, stupid luck.

"Stop," Cas hissed, breaking through the giddy headrush and startling Dean. He dropped his hands at his sides.

"Wha—"

"Sit down," Cas said and pointed at Dean’s bed. When Dean just stared dumbly, Cas’ expression made a brief detour via impatient to settle on wide-eyed and earnest. "Dean. I need to make sure the door is locked. My mom might come back any moment."

"Right!" Dean nodded. "Yes. Makes sense." He perched on the edge of the bed as Cas went over to the door. Dean had never seen the key that must have gone with the old-fashioned lock at some point, but Cas seemed to have his own technique. He closed the door firmly, then pulled a wooden wedge out behind a row of books and jammed it underneath the closed door. After a moment’s hesitation, he dragged the desk chair over as well and wedged it underneath the handle. 

Dean scooted back further on the bed to make space. "Come here," he said as he patted the mattress next to him.

Cas did, and moments later, their lips were locked again. Cas was kneeling, so Dean had gotten to his knees as well, his hands on Cas’ shoulders as he administered soft, nipping kisses to Cas’ mouth.

Kissing a boy was not that different from kissing a girl. Dean’s repertoire included three; his ex-girlfriend Lisa, Cassie from middle school, and a nameless college girl he’d met at a party he shouldn’t have been at about a year ago. They’d all been different in their own way, and so was Cas. His lips were dry and needed a lot of gentle licks and kisses to become soft, but once they were, they were full and plush and warm.

Cas was trying to deepen the kiss, growling in the back of his throat as his hand came up to hold Dean in place as Cas ran his tongue along Dean’s upper lip. Dean could feel the tremor of the sound making Cas’ lips vibrate, and the firm touch of Cas’ hand in his hair sent an involuntary shudder through his body. He made his own sound deep in his chest, a soft sigh. "Cas," he muttered, muffled by the kiss, and tightened his arms around Cas’ waist. The sweatshirt fabric of Cas’ hoodie bunched under his hands. Dean slid his tongue against Cas’, lips pursing as he tried to suck on the tip of it.

Cas growled again. Dean’s dick gave a twitch, straining uncomfortably against the leg of his boxer briefs it was trapped in. Dean pressed closer and sucked even harder, then gasped in surprise when Cas suddenly bit his lip.

They broke apart, Dean’s hand coming up to his mouth. He wasn’t in pain so much as startled, a laugh escaping him as he met Cas’ concerned eyes. "What—"

"I’m sorry!" Cas seemed chagrined. "I didn’t—" He reached out to pull Dean’s hand away from his mouth. "Is it bleeding?"

Dean interlaced his fingers with Cas’, turning the grip into a handhold, and shook his head. "It’s fine, Cas. I was just surprised, that’s all. A little bit of teeth are a-okay." He grinned, which turned into a laugh when Cas turned bright red all the way up under his hairline.

"I’ve never kissed anyone," Cas blurted out.

Dean blinked, trying to place that information. "You—do you mean boys, or—?"

"Anyone," Cas said. His tone was starting to sound apologetic, and maybe a little panicked. "I never talk to people who aren’t on the internet so I never—"

He stalled out, the expression on his face making Dean want to mess with anyone who ever gave Cas the idea he needed to apologize for anything. "It’s okay," he said as he reached out with his free hand to rub Cas’ shoulder. "I don’t—I don’t mind being your first. I—" Now it was his turn to blush, feeling heat rise in his cheeks and ears. "I kind of like that I am, maybe. Was—" He swallowed. "Was it a good first kiss?"

Cas’ eyes narrowed. "I don’t know, Dean. I have nothing to compare it to."

It should sound unfriendly, but Cas’ blunt statement instead just made Dean laugh. "So you’re saying you need more to go on."

Cas’ suspicious expression morphed into something more mischievous as he held Dean’s eyes. "Yes," he said, his gaze dropping to Dean’s mouth. "I need more to go on. More kissing."

Dean slid the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, an only half-joking attempt at seduction _film noir_ -style. "You’d better get started, then."

Seconds later, Cas’ mouth was on his, Cas’ hands on his shoulders pushing him down. Dean went with it, let himself fall back into the mattress, arms wrapping around Cas to pull him on top as Cas’ tongue slid into his mouth again. Dean’s back curved in an involuntary arch as Cas’ weight pressed him down.

"Hold still," Cas whispered as he grazed first his tongue, then his teeth along Dean’s bottom lip. "I’m practicing."

\-----

Their practicing session came to a sudden end when Naomi’s attempt at opening the door ground the handle into the backrest of the chair with a metallic crunch. Dean was on top now, his hands cupping Cas’ waist under his sweatshirt as he administered small, licking kisses to Cas’ mouth. A jolt went through Cas’ body underneath him, and Dean rolled off so quickly he almost banged the back of his head into the wall.

"Castiel," Naomi’s voice came from the corridor. "What’s going on? Your door is jammed."

"Just a moment!" Considering Cas’ freaked-out expression, his tone sounded enviably level. Dean reached out to flatten Cas’ tousled hair while Cas yanked Dean’s shirt down to cover his stomach. Their eyes met in a silent agreement that refusing to open the door would be more suspicious than anything, so Cas clambered off the bed and quickly removed the barricade. Dean grabbed the book that was lying on the nightstand and opened a random page, turning his back to the door to pretend to be fully engrossed.

"Sorry, Mom," Cas said as Naomi stuck her head into the room. "I was changing."

With his back to the door, all Dean had to go on was the pause that followed that statement. It sounded like a dubious pause. "With Dean in the room?" Naomi confirmed his suspicions.

"He’s not a girl, Mom!" Cas’ impatient tone was fairly convincing. "It’s different."

"I see," Naomi said. "Well, I’m glad I still count as a "girl", even at my age."

"Mom!"

Sometimes Dean wasn’t sure if Cas’ mom was really that clueless, or if she was just screwing with Cas. He glanced over his shoulder and waved when she greeted him.

"Hey there, Mrs. Novak."

"Naomi, Dean. Please. How was the Christmas market? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah!" Dean didn’t have to fake his enthusiasm. "It was great."

"Glad to hear it. Dinner’s in half an hour, boys, try not to make me wait."

She left, and Cas followed her with a resentful stare before he closed the door behind her. Dean sat up with his feet over the edge, and Cas came over to let himself fall onto the mattress next to him. A few moments of silence followed.

"I won’t tell her," Cas said eventually, rubbing a nervous palm over his knee. "She doesn’t—"

Dean waited for Cas to finish, but Cas just shook his head. He leaned a little closer to press his shoulder into Cas’. "I get it," he said. "I could never tell my dad. He would literally kill me."

Cas glanced over, his expression pinging somewhere between concern and regret. "My mom doesn’t expect me to do anything like this," he said. "Date. Be it boys or girls. I think she thinks I’m just going to be twelve forever." 

Dean thought about Naomi, what she was like with Cas. There was maybe some truth to what Cas was saying. At times, Naomi seemed avidly oblivious to the fact that Cas was more a young adult than a child. It started with the fact that she never knocked before she came into Cas’ room, but it was more than that. He shrugged. "Maybe if you tell her she’ll realize that that’s not true? Maybe you just need to, like. Confront her with the fact that you’re not twelve."

Cas gave him a look as if Dean had suggested Cas surprise his mom with some revealing nudes of himself. "I’m not going to do that." His tone left no room for argument, so Dean raised his hand, palm outward.

"Fair enough. I just thought she might be, you know. Reasonable about it." When he thought about telling Naomi about the fact that he and Cas had spent the last half-hour making out, it wasn’t a comfortable conversation he was imagining. But when he compared it to the idea of telling his dad—he wasn’t even able to imagine that without his mind blanking in panic.

He wrapped his arm around Cas and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. "Never mind, it doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to be discreet, right?"

Cas grimaced, his nose wrinkling up and his hand coming up to rub it. "You’re like the most indiscreet person I know," he pointed out. The note of fondness in his voice made Dean’s smile widen.

"I’ll make you love my indiscretions," he grinned. "You just wait."


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks later, it was Christmas.

To Dean, of course, referring to the 24th of December as proper Christmas was a novelty. His family had always celebrated on December 25, early mornings of eager excitement and presents, and a lazy day spent hanging out around the tree in between torn-up wrapping paper, the twenty books Sammy had been gifted with, and his own present of the year, which over the years had ranged from a bright red firetruck toy to a set of real acryl colors that his mom had given him for their last Christmas together.

But Germans did presents on Christmas Eve. The way Cas explained, a morning of decorating the tree would usually be followed by a day of preparations, then service (if you were religious), followed by an evening spent around the Christmas tree singing Christmas carols and unwrapping presents. It didn’t sound too different from American Christmas, and even though he missed his family, Dean had to admit he’d rather be with Cas this year than back home. Without Mary, Christmas 2002 had been a very sad affair in the Winchester home.

The evening of the 23rd brought another novelty. As the day was winding down, Dean and Cas were in their room, the door closed firmly with the wedge jammed underneath it. They were foregoing the desk chair at this point—especially since right now, they weren’t even making out. There had been a lot of that in the past two weeks, frantic touches and kisses in between the barrage of tests that had started in earnest on the Monday after their trip to the Christmas market, and a couple of slower make-out sessions in the few quiet moments they had been able to carve out. The constant anxiety of being found out by Cas’ mom kept those to a very limited amount, though. Even now, the awareness of Naomi puttering around in the kitchen made holding hands the most they dared to do.

They were watching a movie on Cas’ computer, one of the westerns from Cas’ huge movie collection of dubious origins that he kept on neatly sorted CD-Roms in a box under his desk. Yul Brynner was in the middle of trying to recruit McQueen to ride with him to protect the Mexican village from the villainous Calvera when the sound of the doorbell interrupted their cinematic experience. Dean squeezed Cas’ hand before he let go. "Who’s that?"

Cas grunted, flattening his hair as he padded over to the door. "Don’t know. Maybe a neighbor or something."

Dean paused the movie before he followed Cas into the corridor. Cas was leaning against the door jamb and was peering out into the dark staircase. Footsteps echoed between the walls. "Who’s there?"

"Your worst nightmare," a voice called up from a couple of flights below.

"Oh, great."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas’ reaction. "Who is it?"

"It’s—"

Cas was interrupted by the door being pushed open. A young man of around twenty years of age burst through it. He was shorter than Cas, but where Cas carried an air of reclusiveness, this guy did not. He thumped his duffle bag on the floor and flung his arms around Cas in an exuberant hug.

"Castiel! So good to see you, man. Did you miss me?"

"No." Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was being facetious or not. His deadpan expression gave nothing away. "Dean, meet my brother Gabe."

Dean eyed the newcomer with heightened curiosity. Cas and Naomi had mentioned Cas’ brother Gabriel now and again, and a few weeks ago, Dean learned that the black-and-white photograph of an arched stone gate that hung on the wall in Naomi’s study was a school-prize-winning picture taken by her eldest. The photo was strict and severe, harsh shadows setting off stark contrasts, and that in combination with the fact that Dean knew that Gabe was in college for pre-law made Dean picture a completely different kind of character.

"Hey," he said, smiling as Gabe shook his hand. "Good to meet you. I’m the, uh. The exchange student. Dean."

"Are you? I actually knew that." Gabe grabbed his duffle bag and pushed through towards the living room. "Not much goes on in this family that I don’t know about. Mom!"

Naomi, who’d been busy in the kitchen, met Gabe half-way through the door and wrapped him in a hug. "Gabriel! You didn’t say you were coming."

"Didn’t know if I was until this morning." Gabe slid past Naomi and clapped his hands together in delight as he spotted two trays of freshly baked cookies on the kitchen counter. "But then I remembered that you make these around this time of year!"

"Well, I’m glad you found _some_ reason to come see your family at Christmas." Naomi pulled out a plate to pile on a handful of cookies. "Here, take a few into the living room. I’ll finish up here and join you in a moment."

Gabe sauntered off, and Dean and Cas exchanged a glance before they followed.

Gabe turned out to be everything Cas wasn’t—loud, boisterous, and a huge show-off. He was fun to talk to, but Dean felt a little stumped as he observed the tremors running through the Novak household under the onslaught of Gabriel’s personality. Naomi abandoned her project in the kitchen to rush and set up a bed for Gabe in the study, and Cas engaged in a conversation with Gabe, asking about Gabe’s classes and life at college and coming dangerously close to making small talk, something Dean had never seen him do before.

When he asked Cas about it later in private, Cas as so often reacted with a shrug. "Gabriel needs a lot of attention," he said, sounding like he was talking about the needs of a particular type of house plant.

While Cas and Gabe seemed to get along decently, Naomi’s and Gabe’s interactions mainly consisted of verbal hits and barbs flying back and forth—some of them amiable competition, but more often than not spiked with a vicious undertone. It made Dean wonder if part of Cas’ reclusiveness was mere self-defense developed during the years Gabe still lived at home.

The next day, Christmas celebrations started properly with a service at four in the afternoon. Dean hadn’t been in church since Sammy got baptized twelve years ago, but he went along out of a mix of politeness and curiosity. The Catholic church in Cas’ hometown turned out to be near the school, a giant cathedral with two tall towers and a gate that could have given the one to the Mines of Moria a run for its money.

The inside was covered in rich decorations, baroque murals stretching across every available surface. Dean felt humbled under the large ceiling as he went along with the liturgy that involved a lot of kneeling and standing up and bowing your head and singing along to somber, religious Christmas songs. The somber feeling lingered even after the service, and on the walk home, he kept very close to Cas, who occasionally let his shoulder brush against Dean’s.

Christmas dinner struck a more light-hearted note. They ate in the living room, juicy goose and red cabbage and a spongy sort of potato dumpling that Dean decided needed to become a staple back home. Afterwards, the room illuminated only by the candles on the tree—a real tree, if not real candles, decorated by Gabe, Dean and Cas earlier in the day—they settled down in the living room to exchange presents.

Dean didn’t expect to get any. He was all the more surprised when not only Naomi and Cas, but also Gabe handed him a wrapped gift each. He returned the favor with Cas and his mother, and tried to apologize to Gabe, who waved him off. "It’s not like you knew I was coming."

Cas’ present to him turned out to be a set of beautiful leather gloves, so nice and expensive-looking that Dean almost felt shabby about the present he got for Cas. He watched Cas as he unwrapped the little box and opened it, and was relieved to see a spark of excitement light up Cas’ eyes.

"Ooh." Cas picked up the little wooden shell and held it in his palm, eyes fixed on the carved wooden beetle that sat inside of it. Its legs wriggled as Cas moved his hand.

Dean shifted. "It’s just a—"

"It’s a Japanese Beetle," Cas said and turned his hand so Dean could see the carved toy as well. "See the green back and the brown wings?"

"Right." Dean shifted a little closer. "I didn’t know it was anything in particular. I thought it was just a bug."

Cas shook his head and moved his hand again to make the beetle’s legs quiver. "Japanese Beetles are similar to June Bugs, but they have more green in their coloring." He glanced up, and Dean felt something warm spread in his chest at the smile on Cas’ face. "Thank you, Dean. I like it a lot."

Their eyes locked, and Dean wished he could put his arms around Cas and press a kiss to his lips. It would feel natural, like something nobody should have any questions or reservations about.

"Looking at each other like that turns you gay," Gabe said from a couple feet away, disproving Dean’s emotional judgment with a dry comment. "You should open my presents."

Dean glanced down at the gift that Gabe had given him earlier, then over at Cas’ small pile of presents. He noticed that Cas’ present from Gabe looked identical to his; a flat, rectangular shape with a ribbon tied around it.

"What is it?" Cas asked as he picked it up.

"I’m not going to tell you," Gabe said. "Could’ve saved myself the trouble of wrapping it then."

Dean pulled the ribbon off of his own gift and realized that the rectangular shape wasn’t wrapping paper, but an envelope. Flipping it open, he pulled out two tickets. The red DB printed in the top right corner Dean had learned to recognize as the logo of German trains.

"What’s this go to?" Cas asked. Dean looked over to see Cas holding up a key that he’d pulled out of an identical envelope. Gabe, who was perched on the edge of his seat, grinned widely.

"My apartment. You’ve got the key, and you," Gabe pointed a finger at Dean, "you’ve got the tickets to paradise."

Dean inspected the tickets more closely, but there were no department or destination stops printed on them. There was a date, though. "This is for New Year’s Eve?"

"Right-y oh," Gabe said. "I’m spending New Year’s Eve with a wonderful lady in her home town, and I need you two knuckleheads to babysit my apartment in Frankfurt."

"So this is not a present," Cas huffed. "This is just you needing us to do something for you."

"I’m paying for your trip!" Gabe sat up, feigning offense. "And I’m giving you a place to hang out in an actual city without parental supervision for the best party night of the year. I’d say that’s a present."

Dean glanced back and forth between Gabe and Cas, then over at Naomi when she cleared her throat. "We’re going to have to talk about the lack of parental supervision," she said. Her eyes met Dean’s, and she smiled. "But I think it’s a wonderful idea. You’d get to see some more of Germany than just the South!"

Dean smiled back and nodded. "I’d love that."

"Frankfurt is decent," Cas conceded. "I’d go."

"It’s settled, then," Gabe grinned and leaned back in his armchair. "All you got to do is feed my rat and water my plants, and the apartment is all yours for two days."

"Who’s this lady you’re going to see?" Naomi asked. "Were you ever going to tell me about her?"

Gabe made a non-committal sound and shrugged. "Her name’s Kali. We’ve been getting along well, and she wants me to meet her parents."

"Really." Naomi settled in to hear more. Dean stopped paying attention, his hand sneaking out to brush against Cas’ fingers. Without being too obvious about it, Cas moved over a little and leaned back into the couch. Their shoulders pressed together, and Dean felt a comfortable warmth spread in his chest as he picked up the gloves to feel the soft leather under his fingers.

All this Christmas was missing was Sam, and maybe Dad, to share in the cozy family feeling that was settling in the room. _Maybe next year_ , Dean thought to himself in the back of his head, a thought he was careful not to reflect on too closely.

\-----

The ticket Gabe had given them was for the slow trains. It made sense; the slow trains were a fraction of the price that the fast trains charged, and it wasn’t like Gabe was swimming in money. Lugging his duffle bag to the station, though, trying to herd Dean along fast enough so they wouldn’t be late, Cas wished they could take the fast connection. He wasn’t looking forward to six hours on rickety old trains that stopped at every cow patty in the back country.

"Come on," he said again, waving a ‘hurry-up’ gesture at Dean. "We’ll miss it!"

"Didn't you say that ticket would let us take any of the slow trains? There's more than one on this route, right?" Dean was panting and struggling with his own bag. The strap kept sliding off his shoulder. His frantic expression as he yanked it back up wasn’t exactly attractive. 

"There's another one in like two and a half hours," Cas said. "If we miss this one, we’ll also miss all of our connections. I haven't looked up alternatives."

"How many changes?"

"Three."

Dean groaned and yanked the bag up again as he tried to walk faster. Cas let Dean pass him before he followed, one nervous eye on his watch.

They made it with half a second to spare. Diving through the closing train doors caught them a glare from the ticket collector, but Cas ignored her and pushed through towards the seats. He picked an arrangement of four facing each other; one for each of them, and one for each of their bags. There was a luggage rack overhead, but it was so small it barely fit an umbrella, never mind his and Dean’s backpacks.

Dean dropped into the seat and gasped for air. "Jesus," he said. "I feel like I only ever see the station flying by in a rush when I run to catch the train."

"Maybe you should walk faster," Cas commented as he pulled his jacket off.

"Or we could just leave earlier." Dean rolled his eyes, then stuck out his foot to nudge it against Cas’. "How far are we going?"

"Two and a half hours," Cas said. "Then we change and go another two, then another one and a half. Then we catch the subway."

Dean groaned and stretched. "I thought Germany was _small_ ," he said. "You drive six hours out of my hometown, you—" He frowned and shrugged. "I guess all you hit is farm country. But still."

Cas leaned down to pull off his boots, bracing himself against the window as the train bounced over some switches on the way out of town. "Have you ever been in any of the big cities?" he asked. "New York, or something like that?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes following the houses and buildings passing outside as they grew thinner and got replaced by farmland. "Nah. The furthest I get is Kansas City. Everything else is just really far away. We went up to Yellowstone once when I was little. Sammy got stung by a bee."

Cas noticed the slight smile tugging on Dean’s lips when he said his brother’s name. "Do you get along well with Sammy?"

Dean glanced over and grinned. "Don’t call him that. Only I get to do that, and even I get death threats half the time."

Cas tilted it his head in acquiescence. "All right. Do you get along with _Sam_?"

Dean shrugged. "Mostly. We used to be super close. He’s kind of changed since, you know. Mom."

"How so?"

Dean toed his sneakers off as well and nudged his toes against Cas’ thigh. Cas shifted to let Dean push his feet under his leg. "He just changed." Dean shrugged. "Like. When Mom died, I just wanted to be around Dad and Sam, right? I felt like we had to stick together. Sam—he kind of went off on his own."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Did he try to run away?"

"What?" Dean laughed and shook his head. "No. That’s—does that ever happen outside of, like. Movies and stuff?"

Cas shrugged, squinting against a ray of sunshine that fell in through the window as the train shook and quivered in a turn. "Gabe did it a few times. He always came back, though."

Dean huffed. "Gabe’s kind of a trip, isn’t he?"

Cas tilted his head in agreement. "He changed, too. We used to be really close. He’d show me things and take me along when he played with his friends. But when he hit puberty—" Cas shrugged, lacking words to explain the feeling of watching Gabe pull away and being too young to understand why. "And then he moved out four years ago. We don’t hear from him a lot."

He didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he could feel Dean’s toes curl under his thigh. "That sucks," Dean said, tone sympathetic. Cas just shrugged in response and slid a hand under the cuff of Dean’s jeans, rubbing over Dean’s shin, fine hairs tickling his palm.

"Sammy didn’t try to run away," Dean continued eventually. "He just, you know. Spent a lot of time in his room. And when he came out, he was all—angry. It was like talking to a tiny pitbull." Dean shrugged. "And he didn’t really have anyone. Between Dad and school, I kind of—I guess I kind of wasn’t really there for him."

Cas glanced over at Dean, but Dean was avoiding his eyes, using his thumbnail to pick at a smudge of ink in his palm. He looked like Dean did when he was working up his courage to say something, so Cas kept quiet.

"That’s why I’m here," Dean eventually added, rewarding Cas’ patience. "I wasn’t helping, so Dad sent me away. I didn’t actually sign up for the exchange myself. Dad signed me up, because he didn’t want me around Sam."

Cas thought back to Dean when he met him; reclusive and reticent, reluctant to speak and seeming like he didn’t want to be here. Apparently, Dean actually hadn't wanted to be here. Cas couldn’t help a slight twinge of insecurity. "It’s not that bad, though. The exchange. Is it?"

Dean looked up, and the unhappy twist in Cas’ chest resolved in a prickling burst when Dean graced him with an affectionate smile. "No. It’s not bad." Dean’s toes wriggled under Cas’ thigh, and Cas returned the smile. "I’m glad I met you. I just—" Dean shrugged and glanced back down at his hands. "Sammy got in trouble, you know? With the law. And he’s only thirteen. I wish I’d payed more attention. Someone should’ve seen it coming, the way he was acting."

"What happened?"

"He, uh. He escalated an anti-NRA protest." Dean said it as if Cas were supposed to know what that was. When Cas just looked at him, Dean added, "NRA, the National Rifle Association. They’re big on, like. Guns and things. After the thing with Mom, Sammy kind of started to hate everything to do with guns. He went on protests and stuff. There was one in our town when the NRA was having a meeting at the city hall."

"What do you mean when you say he escalated it?"

"Sam and his friend climbed a fence. They just wanted to get higher up, but the cops didn’t like it. So when they tried to get them down, Sam—well." Dean shrugged. "He threw a rock at them. Bad enough as it is, but then other people started throwing rocks, and shit sort of escalated."

"Wow." Cas frowned with newly-won respect for Dean’s brother. The worst run-in he’d had with the police was being stopped for biking without a light after dark. "So—did he get charged with attempted manslaughter, or something?" That was what people on American TV always got charged with. 

Dean huffed a breath and shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. Disorderly conduct and assault. Bad enough, but if they’d gone for inciting a riot, it could have become a felony charge."

Cas nodded and frowned as he watched green fields rush by. "I don’t get how that’s your fault, though," he said, massaging Dean’s leg some more. "You didn’t tell him to go throw rocks at cops, did you?"

"I’m his older brother." Dean shrugged. "I should’ve been a better example. I did some stupid stuff before Mom died. Smoked weed, and, you know. Got drunk. Talked shit about the police. It’s probably where Sammy got the idea that breaking the law is okay."

Cas tilted his head and watched Dean, taking in the downturned set of his mouth and his downcast eyes. Pushing Dean’s foot out from under his leg, he got up and moved Dean’s backpack from the seat next to Dean. He took its place and put his arm around Dean, who immediately leaned into him. Dean felt familiar at this point, warm and heavy, a known shape pressed against his body, and Cas rubbed Dean’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort.

They didn’t speak much for the rest of the trip.

\-----

Five long, long hours later, they finally arrived in Gabe’s apartment. Dean’s spirits had lowered over the past few hours as he’d gotten more and more fed up with being on trains. The last train, which they caught at a small backcountry station, looked like it’d been taken straight out of the set of _Murder on the Orient Express_ , with old-fashioned brown-green interiors and self-contained seating compartments that could be closed off with a sliding door. It was entertaining at first, but then he realized that in 1954 (or whenever the train had been built), shock absorbance had not been high on the priority list for train engineers. The subway they caught from the central station to Gabe’s stop was fairly empty, thank God, and they let themselves into Gabe’s studio at around four in the afternoon.

Cas dropped his backpack by the door and headed straight for the bed, falling face-foward into the mattress. Dean went over to the windows, which spanned the entire back wall. They were on the seventh floor in an apartment block towering over most of its surroundings, and the view was pretty great. The city’s skyline was painting a silhouette against the grey winter sky, glints of brightness here and there where the setting sun reflected in the windows.

"You can see almost all the way across the city," Cas said as he came up next to Dean. Dean could feel his shoulder press into his. "Gabe always says he lives in a ghetto penthouse."

"This is the ghetto?"

Cas shrugged. "It’s not the best part of town. It’s not dangerous, though. Mostly it’s just kind of dirty."

Dean spotted some graffiti on the way here, and a few discarded beer cans and plastic bottles, but nothing he would consider dangerous. But then, most bad parts of town didn’t advertise that that’s what they were. "We have to call your mom," he said, remembering their promise to Naomi, who’d let them go without parental supervision under the condition that they would check in periodically.

Cas hummed in agreement and went over to the phone. Dean left Cas to talking to his mother and inspected the bathroom, a tiny plastic cubicle behind a door leading off to the left from the entrance. Along the wall across from it, a kitchenette sported two hobs, a sink, and a few cupboards, but no oven. Thanks to the wide window wall, the rest of the studio was open and bright, but it wasn’t particularly large. There was only one bed—a double, so it was barely wide enough for two people to sleep in it—and no other viable sleeping option. Dean noticed the fact with a twinge in his chest he wasn’t sure was anxiety or excitement.

"Don’t know yet," Cas said into the phone, his free hand tucked under his arm as he spoke to his mom. "Maybe we’ll go out later. We’ll call tomorrow morning, as agreed."

Dean let himself fall on the bed, reassured after his inspection of the contents of Gabe’s apartment that Gabe had been joking when he mentioned his rat and plants. After a brief ‘take care’, Cas hung up.

"She’ll be celebrating with her best friend," he said. "Hester called to invite her this morning."

"That’s good." Dean rolled over on his stomach. "I was worried she was going to be all on her own."

"Yeah." Cas shrugged one shoulder. "She does that, though. She’s not big on—" He interrupted himself as his gaze caught on something under the coat rack. Dean followed his eyes and spotted an oblong package, wrapped in a bedsheet with a ribbon pinned on top. It held a note that said "Open Here" in black marker.

"What’s that?" Dean got to his feet as Cas picked up the package to bring it over to the bed. He pulled off the ribbon, and Dean picked up the note as it fluttered to the mattress. A smaller scribble on the back read _Have fun. If you set something on fire, I had nothing to do with this._

"Did Gabe leave us a flame thrower?"

"No, I think—" Cas pulled on the sheet to unravel the package, and the contents that fell out onto the bed answered Dean’s question.

It was an oblong plastic bag that contained ten bottle rockets on long wooden sticks lined up inside, colorful plastic caps at the top and fuses at the bottom. Two mortars were tucked into a carton box covered in colorful firework prints, and a rectangular plastic box contained five pyramid fountains. Also tumbling out came a good number of firecrackers and a couple of helicopters.

Dean stared at the pile, speechless. " _Jesus_ ," he said. "How illegal is this?"

Cas picked up the bottle rockets, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Not that illegal," he said. "Everyone sets off fireworks on New Year’s Eve. You can buy these at any store. But not if you’re under eighteen." Cas gave Dean a grin. "Gabe and I used to do this together on New Year’s Eve before he, you know. Stopped doing things with me. He must’ve remembered."

They surveyed their treasure, a pile of explosives stacked on the bed, covered in happy, colorful firework prints. Dean felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach. "That’s a lot of firepower."

Cas nodded. "Go big or go home. That’s what Gabe always says. Guess we’ve figured out what the plan is for tonight."

Dean nodded, and winced as his stomach suddenly growled loud enough to make Cas give him a surprised side glance. "I’m starving," he said. "Aren’t you?"

They set out to locate food in Gabe’s apartment. The fridge held little of use besides a giant bottle of sparkling wine with another note telling them not to "drink and firework", but in a cupboard, Dean found olive oil, garlic, dried chilis and pasta. With the windows flung wide open to chase out the smell of the spices, and Cas sitting on the bed wrapped in a blanket against the chill, Dean whipped up a quick pasta dinner with a spicy sauce of chili-garlic oil. They shared the blanket when Dean joined Cas on the bed with two plates. Cas tasted the first bite with a wary expression that quickly morphed into appreciation.

"Didn’t know you can cook," he said as he chewed. "This is good. My mom never makes spicy food."

"Dad likes it," Dean said as he tucked in himself. "I take care of dinner most days at home. Dad used to, sometimes, but ever since Mom he usually gets home late."

Cas made a non-committal sound around a mouthful of pasta and swallowed. "Gabe refused to do it," he said. "We’d be home alone after school most days until Mom got home, but Gabe didn’t want to cook. He said it was Dad’s job, and it wasn’t his fault that Dad wasn’t around. So we’d always have sandwiches for lunch, or frozen pizza, and Mom would cook when she got home."

"How old was Gabe when your dad left?"

"Seven." Cas pointed his fork across the room at a picture frame sitting on a wall shelf. "That’s Dad, over there. I don’t remember him. I was two when he left, and we haven’t seen or spoken to him since."

Dean squinted to make out the picture, which showed a short, bearded man with owlish glasses of the kind that Dean remembered his mother wearing when he was very little. "What did he do for a living?"

Cas shrugged. "I think he wrote stuff," he said. "Or tried to. Mom doesn’t talk about him, but Gabe says that she was always angry at Dad for not having a job. And Dad would always be trying to sell his books."

"He was a writer? That’s kind of cool." Dean didn’t know of anyone in his family who had any artistic or creative ambitions. "Do you know if he ever got published?"

"No idea." Cas shrugged and scraped the last of his pasta onto his fork. "If he did, he never told us. Don’t think he would have, though." He leaned over to put his plate on the nightstand and held out a hand for Dean’s.

Dean finished the last couple of bites before he handed it over. Cas put the plates away, and Dean used his tongue to suck bits of garlic-y pasta out from between his teeth. "Kissing is going to be gross now," he said in a sudden realization and felt himself blush as Cas glanced over at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Why?"

"Because we both reek of garlic," Dean said. "Also chili. My lips are all—" He swiped his tongue over them. "Super spicey."

Cas’ eyes dropped to his mouth, and Dean could feel a familiar spark of interest make his skin prickle. He shifted as Cas shuffled closer, leaning back against the wall as Cas leaned in. Instead of kissing, though, Cas trailed his tongue along Dean’s lips, tasting. Dean grunted as the touch made the remains of chili burn on his skin.

"I don’t know," Cas muttered. "I don’t think it’s that bad."

Their lips met in a proper kiss, and sure enough, Dean could taste oil and spicy garlic along with the familiar taste of Cas. It took some getting used to, but the sharp tingle of the chili was actually kind of nice. He hummed into the kiss and teased Cas’ tongue into his mouth to suck on it. "Mhm," he smiled and slid his hands under Cas’ hoodie. "Dessert."

He felt a twinge as Cas caught his lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to produce a slight sting. "Don’t talk, Dean."

Dean chuckled; flicked his tongue against Cas’ lip, and as Cas let go, Dean caught Cas’ mouth in another kiss.

Kissing Cas, Dean had learned, was a little like partnering with a veteran kissing athlete to go for the Olympic gold medal. Cas was focused, demanding, lapping up new impressions and new techniques by the moment. His eyes would get all dark and clear and his voice would go low and gravelly, words reduced to single syllables. Even when it was slow like this, it was intense, and it made the world fall away around Dean, everything reduced to the sensation of feeling, smelling and experiencing Cas.

He floated along in this bubble for a while, Cas’ hands finding their way under his sweater, nails scraping over his ribs and sides and making him squirm as sensation sparked at his nerve endings. He pushed forward, nudging Cas over until Cas was on his back on the bed, splayed out underneath him as their lips locked in languid kisses. His leg slid between Cas’ thighs, and he groaned as he could feel a hard bulge press against his jeans just as his own dick got trapped between his boxers and Cas’ hip.

Cas responded with a guttural sound of his own, his hips rolling upwards just as his nails dragged down Dean’s bare back. Cas’ lower lip caught between Dean’s teeth, and he sucked on it as he pushed his own hips down, turning Cas’ single thrust into a steady rhythm.

Harsh breathing accompanied by occasional gasps and grunts followed as they rutted against each other. After a while, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders and neck and let himself fall to the side. The momentum pulled Cas up and on top of him and increased the pressure on Dean’s dick to an almost painful level. He moaned and arched up, and Cas’ hands went up to grab his wrists. He pushed them down against the mattress just as he pressed his hips down, his dick grinding against Dean’s hipbone.

"Cas," Dean breathed, vision blurred except for a fisheye focal point containing Cas’ face. He thrust his hips up, trying to speed the rhythm back up. "Cas, _fuck_. I’m going to come in my pants."

"Yes."

The determination in Cas’ voice sent a shiver down Dean’s spine, making his whole body shudder. " _Fuck_ ," he moaned.

Cas sucked Dean’s tongue into his mouth again, lips warm and damp against Dean’s, and it took only a couple more thrusts until Dean was gone. Sensation flooded his body as he felt hot come spill in his underpants, and he pulled his thigh up, grinding it hard against Cas’ dick, wanting to make Cas join him.

A violent shudder ran through Cas’ body, strangled moans getting caught in Cas’ throat as his eyes glazed over. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, pulling him close as they rode out the aftershocks together, and felt the tension bleed from his body gradually just as it did from Cas’. They ended up lying on top of each other in a boneless heap, gasping and panting.

"Jesus," Dean laughed quietly, stroking a hand over Cas’ back. "We didn’t even take off our clothes."

"We can do that later," Cas mumbled in a near-unintelligible mutter, his nose burying in Dean’s shoulder as he snuggled close.

\-----

A premature bottle rocket startled them awake at quarter past eleven, forty-five minutes before they would have slept straight through the change of the year. They fell out of bed in a tangle of limbs, both grimacing in discomfort at the dried stickiness in their pants. A quick wipe-down and a change of clothes later, they were ready to celebrate the beginning of 2004.

"We can set these off in the parking lot outside," Cas said as he scooped the fireworks up into both arms. "Get the wine and two glasses, will you?"

They weren’t the only ones who’d decided the parking lot was a good place to set off fireworks. The apartment block seemed to be primarily inhabited by students, and a good chunk of the tenants, all in various stages of intoxication and armed with explosives, had gathered on the asphalt. Upon seeing the other groups carrying empty bottles, Dean realized he and Cas were lacking a launch pad for their rockets. Fortunately, finding their own empty champagne bottle proved no trouble at all.

"Are they all going to be setting off fireworks?" Dean asked, the sheer amount of firepower surrounding them making him feel like he’d inadvertently walked onto a battlefield.

Cas, in contrast, was entirely unconcerned. He was stabilizing the bottle with a few large rocks, and shrugged. "Everyone lights up their stuff at midnight," he said, then glanced over. "You don’t need to worry, Dean. Nothing ever happens."

"I hope so." Dean threw another wary glance at the parking lot crowd, rubbing his hands together against the cold as clouds of condensed breath partially obscured his vision, before he stepped over to hold out a warmed-up hand to help Cas to his feet. "You know that saying about the people you spend New Year’s Eve with?"

Cas squinted and shook his head. "No."

"Supposedly, the person you spend New Year’s with is the person you will be spending the rest of the year with." Cas raised a dubious eyebrow, and Dean shrugged, self-conscious. "It’s just a saying."

"I hope it’s true." Cas’ tone was so matter-of-fact that Dean glanced at him in surprise, chest clenching. He nodded.

"I do, too." He pushed his shoulder against Cas’, and Cas leaned against him, a reassuring heavy weight accompanied by a soothing warmth. "What time is it?"

Cas checked his watch. "Ten minutes," he said. "We should set up."

They tore open the bag of rockets and placed one into the improvised champagne bottle launcher. Dean felt excitement rise in his chest as Cas pulled a lighter from his pocket. He’d set off fireworks only once, three years ago with a group of friends in a junkyard a couple of days after Fourth of July. It definitely wasn’t legal, and Dean remembered it being slightly scary, too, since their third missile set an old, moist cardboard box on fire. Because of the moisture, the fire went out within minutes, but Dean clearly remembered the wafts of thick, black smoke it generated, and their flailing, futile attempts to stifle the flames by throwing other junk at them. They’d taken off after that, worried the smoke would alert the police—as if the cops had nothing better to do than scan the skies for black smoke signals—and Dean had spent several days terrified of his mother coming to him with pointed questions about a report of illegal fireworks in the junkyard.

This was different, though. It was legal, for one thing. He just hoped that none of the cars sitting in the lot—not many, but there were a handful, including a beautiful dark blue BMW with fold-in headlights—would get hit and catch fire.

"Dean," Cas’ voice pulled him from his thoughts, "Can you hold this?"

Cas was holding the two glasses out to him. He kept them steady as Cas poured a generous amount of sparkling wine into each. Dean let Cas take one, then raised his own and sniffed, wrinkling his nose as small drops of moisture prickled against his nostrils. "I really like your brother."

"He can be decent," Cas said with a slight smile. He pressed up close next to Dean, and Dean felt Cas’ fingers wrap around his. None of the other kids were close enough to see, or sober enough to care if they did, so Dean leaned over for a brief kiss. A few streets over, a couple more premature rockets went off, and Dean looked up as he heard the metallic whine of the missiles climbing into the sky. They exploded in a shower of colorful sparks, adding wafts of white smoke to the thin haze already clouding the dark sky. Dean smiled.

"We get fireworks on Fourth of July," he said. "It’s kind of like this. Warmer, though."

"That’s why everyone gets drunk," Cas pointed out. "So they don’t feel the cold and can stay out for hours handling explosives."

Dean snorted. "And here they say Americans are irresponsible about firearms and weaponry."

Cas grinned, then glanced up as another rocket whizzed through the sky. The bright white shower of sparks exploded a hundred and fifty feet straight above them, and Dean pressed a little closer to Cas, half-expecting the burnt-out rocket shell to rain down on their heads at any moment.

" _Ten! Nine! Eight!_ "

Dean glanced over at the gaggle of students about thirty feet away who were yelling a countdown in unison. Cas tapped his watch in excitement as he joined in. " _Seven! Six! Five!_ " Dean managed to catch the last few. " _Four! Three! Two! One!_ "

A cacophony of joyous whoops echoed through the parking lot, accompanied by church bells in the distance and a sudden, deafening thunder of a thousand rockets being set off across the city. The sky exploded, each rain of sparks immediately replaced by two new ones. The display made up for what it lacked in rhyme or reason by sheer, city-wide scope. Dean felt Cas’ arms around him and hugged back, then let out a joyful cheer and pulled Cas off his feet to spin him around.

"Happy new year 2004, Cas!"

"Dean!" Cas landed back on his feet, voice tight with surprise, but then he laughed. "Happy new year, Dean."

They kissed, oblivious to anyone who might see, under a sky lit up in every color of the rainbow.

\-----

Over the next hour, they set off every single firework Gabe left them with. Brocades, willows, crosettes and peonies bloomed in the sky, emanating from their champagne bottle and splashing breathtaking colors into the night. The mortars drew some attention from the other kids as they fired balls of light into the air like pistons. The fountains Cas suggested to set off all at once, five volcanoes of light lined up on the pavement and spewing their sparks three, four, five feet into the air. Twenty minutes in, Dean began to feel light-headed from the noise, the bright lights above and the smoke that hung thick in the air. He wrapped his arms around Cas and stuck his face into the joint of his neck and shoulder, hanging on for bearings and comfort until the sensory overload had passed.

Afterwards, they wandered away from the parking lot through the neighboring streets, watching people shout in joy, excitement and intoxication as they celebrated the new year with as much noise as they could muster. They ended up on a bench by a big river, perched on the backrest with their feet on the seat as they passed the bottle of wine back and forth until it was empty. Dean felt safe and peaceful with the warmth of Cas’ body next to him, the ruckus of the city a far-away spectacle as the alcohol relaxed his senses and Cas leaned in for slow, lazy kisses.

The early morning hours saw them stumbling hand-in-hand back up the corridor towards Gabe’s apartment. The bed had only one blanket, so they curled up close to each other, Cas spooning against Dean’s chest as they tucked their limbs in to keep them warm. Dean had almost drifted off when he remembered something.

"Cas," he mumbled, and Cas grunted, a sound Dean could hear as well as feel in Cas’ back that was pressed against his chest.

"What?"

"You still want to, like. Take off our clothes and do stuff?"

The pause that followed was so long that Dean thought Cas had gone to sleep. Eventually, though, Cas grunted. "Don’t know," he said. "We’ve kind of already taken off our clothes."

They’d shed their jeans and sweaters before getting into bed, both in t-shirt and boxers now. Dean hummed. "’kay." He nuzzled a kiss against the back of Cas’ neck. "Happy new year, Cas. Sleep well."

There was a smile in Cas’ voice as he answered. "You, too, Dean."

\-----

Hungover as they were, catching the train the next morning was another mad dash against time. They made it, though, dozing all the way back to Cas’ hometown, only regaining consciousness occasionally to switch to a different train. They arrived home to Naomi also looking a little worse for wear—her hair stood up in the back of her head, and she wasn’t wearing any make-up—but after another night’s sleep, daily routine re-established itself.

When school let in on the seventh, they found out from Hannah that Cain hadn’t lasted over the holidays. He’d snuck out of the house and caught a flight back to America on Christmas Eve. A few days later he’d sent Hannah an email telling her he wasn’t going to be back.

"He did the right thing," Hannah said, bravely concealing her distress when they talked about it during recess. "There’s no point in him being here if he doesn’t want to be. He wasn’t learning anything, anyway."

On January 24th, Dean turned eighteen. Naomi made cake—she said it wasn’t a real Black Forest cake, but as far as Dean was concerned, if it looked like Black Forest and tasted like Black Forest, it was Black Forest. They shared a few pieces for breakfast, and the rest Dean and Cas finished between the two of them over the remaining day. Dean received a letter with Sam’s handwriting on the front, and inside found a card with a picture of a smiling llama and more of Sam’s scrawled longhand. Happy birthday, hope you’re having a great day, everything is fine back home, Dad’s been asking when you’ll be back. It was signed by Sam and Dad both, Dad’s loopy signature the only thing that wasn’t written by Sam. There was also a ten-dollar-bill tucked into the back of the card.

"You can’t spend that here," Cas pointed out. Dean shrugged as he slipped the bill back into the envelope.

"I’ll just save it, then."

Cas present to him was a picture book of his stay so far. Dean was pretty sure it contained every single picture of him that had been taken over the course of the past four months, even the ones in which he was nothing but a blurry smudge in the background. On the inside of the book cover, Cas had glued the picture Dean had submitted with his exchange application next to a scowling passport picture of himself.

Dean’s chest clenched as he flipped through the book. Cas had put meticulous effort into arranging the pictures chronologically and had labelled each with a tiny caption in his laboriously legible handwriting. The snapshots summarized four, coming up to five months, leaving seven blank pages in the back of the book. Dean knew that in the time he had left in Germany, he wouldn’t gather enough pictures to fill them up. The thought filled him with a sadness that he did his best to hide from Cas. The picture book was the best gift anyone had ever given him; he didn’t want Cas to think that it made him upset.

That night, he and Cas joined Charlie, Jo and Hannah for celebratory drinks in a small bar in the town center. When he kissed Cas in bed that night, he could taste the tangy bitter-sweet taste of German beer, mixed with the herbal note of the joint they’d shared on their way home. For once, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Dean blissfully missing out on Cas sneaking up into his own bed in the middle of the night.

\-----

One evening in early February, Dean was sitting cross-legged on Cas’ bed, listening to Cas click away on his keyboard as he tried to put finishing touches on an essay on the evolutionary links between Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens. He wasn’t sad to abandon it when Naomi called him from the living room.

"Dean!"

"What’s up?"

Naomi poked her head through the door, a concerned frown wrinkling her brow. "Dean, I have your father on the phone for you. In the living room."

Dean glanced at Cas, whose expression reflected the sudden surge of worry in his own chest. It was barely noon in Kansas, and it was a week-day. Dad should be at work right now. Besides, Dad wouldn’t call unless something was really wrong. He pushed his book off his lap and headed into the living room to pick up the receiver which was resting next to the phone.

"Dad?"

"Dean-o," Dad’s voice came through the line, tinny and crackly but unmistakable even after several months. "Long time no speak, huh? How you doing?"

Dean smiled. "It’s all right," he said, English words forming oddly on his tongue after such a long time of speaking almost exclusively German. "Good to hear from you. How are you guys doing back home?"

"We’re okay," Dad said. "Sam’s been working hard to get his probation officer to back off of him a little. I got to say, that PO’s a hard woman to please."

"Is he having trouble?" Dean scooped the receiver closer to his ear, turning away from the open door. Cas knew about Sam’s trouble with the law, but Dean had never told Naomi. He didn’t think she needed to know. "He’s not acting out again, is he?"

"No, Dean-o, no." Dad huffed a laugh. "Your brother’s being a model citizen as far as his probation’s concerned. Don’t you worry."

Dean felt a relieved smile tug on his lips. "All right. Good." He swallowed. "Uh, is something wrong? Why aren’t you at work?"

"No time for small talk, huh?" Dad laughed again, and the jovial tone made Dean’s spine tingle. He never knew with Dad. Maybe he _was_ just calling to check in, oblivious to the fact that five months had passed since Dean had heard from him. His dad’s next words belied that theory, though. "All right, let’s not drag it out," he said. "I’m calling to let you know that I need you to come home early." For a few moments, there was just the crackling of the line, then Dad’s voice came again. "Dean-o?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Um," he said. His words were stuck in his lungs, chest clenched tight. "Why? My flight’s in two weeks."

"I know, and trust me, I’d have rather saved those three-hundred bucks they charged me to change the ticket. But I need you here, Dean-o. I need some help around the house. We’re going to be moving in a couple weeks."

Dad’s voice was level, casual, like nothing he was saying was any big deal. In contrast, Dean felt his heart climb into his throat, palms breaking out in a slick sweat. Trying to hold on to the receiver was like holding on to a jelly fish. "What?" 

"We’re moving," Dad said. A note of impatience had crept into his tone. "This house is too big, Dean-o. There’s at least two rooms we’re not even using. And you’re finishing school and will be going off to God-knows-where in a few months. We keep pouring half my monthly pay check into this house when we’d be fine in something half as big. There’s no need for that." Dad paused, tone calmer as he continued. "I found us an apartment in the city. Closer to the garage, and closer to the school. No garden to mow or rake. It’ll be good for all of us."

Dean’s hand flexed on the receiver as his brain provided helpful images of a moving truck pulling into the driveway of the Lawrence home he’d grown up in. Burly men in threadbare t-shirts pulled the furniture away from the walls, revealing deep impressions in the carpet, tromping over the faded purple stain near the living room door where Sam had spilled juice as a toddler. Dean pictured empty, too-large rooms, the pencil markings on the kitchen door jamb a forlorn reminder that someone used to live there.

"I don’t want to move." He hoped his voice lost some of its pathetic quiver through the connection.

Dad’s tone made him think that it didn’t. "Dean, come on. It’s just a house. And it’s not like you’ve even been here for the past six months."

"That’s because you sent me away!" Something snapped in Dean’s chest as the shaking in his voice turned into a shout. "You packed me off to Germany because you didn’t want me around, and now you’re dragging me back! I’m not—" He sucked in a breath. "I’m my own person, Dad. You can’t just constantly push me around like that."

"Dean!" Dad snapped his name in a familiar tone that shot through Dean’s deep bone marrow, making his body ache. "You don’t speak to me like that, son. You’ve been a right brat about this from the get-go. Remember how you wouldn’t shut up about going on this exchange a couple years ago?"

"That was before—"

Dad cut him off. "And then, when I scrape together my last penny to give you what you want, you change your mind and throw a fit about not wanting to go!"

"I didn’t—"

"And now," Dad continued, "now that I’m asking you to put your family first for once, you throw a fit about that, too. Who do you think you are? You’re going to get your ass on that flight day after tomorrow, Dean, and you’re going to come back here to help your brother and your father move. Have I made myself clear?"

The air hurt in Dean’s lungs as he sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth to reply, compliance burning on the tip of his tongue. The same answer his dad always got from him in the end; _yes, sir, I’ll do as you say_. He sucked in a harsh breath, teeth clenching.

"I’m not going." His voice shook, but his chest suddenly loosened up, giving his heart more space to race in his chest. "You—Dad, you haven’t called once. Or written an email, or anything. You have no idea what’s going on in my life right now, and you’re just—you’re still just making decisions for me. That’s not fair."

"Who gave you the idea that life’s fair?" Dean hated that tone in Dad’s voice; had heard it used time and again on Mom, on Sam, and on himself. It was the verbal equivalent of being pinned like a bug, and it made him feel nauseous. "You should’ve learned your lesson by now that fair’s not something you should ever expect. I certainly don’t."

Dean felt tears burn in his eyes and clenched his hand to a fist, nails digging into his palm. "Dad, I’ve met someone," he said, voice back to being quivery and shaky. "Here in Germany. I’ve—I—I don’t want to leave them."

"Them? You got more than one girl, Dean-o?"

"No, it’s not—" His knees suddenly felt like jelly, so he moved over to the couch and perched on the footrest. "It’s—Dad, it’s Cas. My host."

"I thought you were staying with a boy."

Dean closed his eyes, clutching his arm around his waist as nausea roiled through him. He knew it was stupid to tell Dad. He’d known from the moment he first kissed Cas that Dad would kill him if he knew.

"Jesus, Dean." The disappointed headshake was audible. "We’re not having this discussion on the phone. You’re booked on the flight day after tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport. Don’t let me down."

There was a click as the line disconnected. Dean stayed where he was, the receiver pressed against his ear, breath choked in his throat as hot moisture burned its way down his cheeks.

He had no idea what to do.

\-----

Cas abandoned his computer game when he heard Dean shout in the living room. His first urge was to hurry down the corridor and to fend off whatever it was that was making Dean upset. But as he came up to the half-closed door, his step slowed. He could see Dean through the gap, receiver pressed against his ear as he uttered quiet, ragged protests against whatever his father was saying to him. This looked very, very private.

Moments later, he wished he’d gone in after all, maybe pulled the receiver away from Dean and hung up. In a choked voice, Dean admitted to ‘having met someone’, and Cas ground his teeth as he shook his head. "Shut up, Dean. Shut _up_." Sometimes Dean seemed incapable of protecting himself.

When Dean stayed quiet for a considerable length of time, Cas peered around the doorframe again. Dean was sitting on the footrest of the couch, shoulders hunched over, the receiver still in his hand but resting loosely in his lap. The phone call was clearly finished. Cas rushed over to perch next to Dean on the footrest. "Dean," he said, trying to put both comfort and inquiry into the name.

Dean pulled up a noseful of snot and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Dad wants me to come home."

Cas’ body stilled as his heart skipped a beat. "In two weeks, right?" he said. "February 24th. That’s when your flight is."

"He changed it!" Dean’s voice was equally full of anger and anguish. "He—it’s the day after tomorrow now. Two days, Cas. That’s all we have left."

Dean looked up, his eyes shining with tears. It made Cas’ chest ache. He reached out, hesitating only for a moment before he wiped the tears off of Dean’s cheekbone. Dean’s eyes were expectant, waiting for Cas’ reaction to the news. Cas’ thumb slid down over the side of Dean’s face, and he swallowed, not knowing what to say.

The truth was, he didn’t want Dean to leave at all. Not in two days, and not in two weeks. The thought had been keeping him awake at night for the past month, the idea that one day very soon, he was going to have to take Dean to the airport. Dean was going to queue in the long line at the gate, was going to go through security, and disappear. Probably forever. Past experiences had taught Cas that once someone left your everyday life, they usually forgot about you.

"It was going to happen anyway, Dean," he said eventually. He searched Dean’s face, hoping Dean would draw comfort from his words, even if it was cold comfort. "You were always going to go home. This was never going to last."

Dean’s eyes widened, and Cas could feel his shoulder tense under his hand. "That’s—" Dean’s voice choked, and Cas felt a split-second of panic as he realized his words had done the opposite of what he’d intended. More tears spilled over onto Dean’s cheeks. "So you don’t even care? You’re supposed to care!"

"I do care!" The accusation in Dean’s voice made Cas feel cornered. "I just—we knew this was going to happen, Dean! You knew you had to go back eventually."

Dean shoved Cas’ hand off his shoulder. Cas startled as Dean jumped to his feet. Waves of angry emotion were rolling off of him. Cas hunched his shoulders as Dean shouted at him in English. "That don’t mean I have to just take it!" The volume almost covered the quiver in Dean’s voice. "You’re so—Cas, if you want something, fucking fight for it! Fight for—" Dean cut himself off, and Cas watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.

"For you?" Cas asked.

He didn’t mean it to come out as dismissive, but Dean pulled back as if slapped. Cas got to his feet. "Dean—"

Dean stepped back. "Never mind. I—" He cleared his throat, a hitch tearing at his breath. "I got to go pack."

Dean left, and Cas stood there feeling like he’d just accidentally smashed his most treasured possession.

\-----

Dean didn’t attend class with him the next day. Walking to school was like walking through a Hollywood film set. The seat next to him in class used to be Balthazar’s, but for the past six months, Dean had occupied it. It was empty now. The lack of Dean’s presence was more oppressing than any possible deskmate could have been, and Cas spent most of the day running his fingers over where Dean had carved their initials into the edge of the desk.

During recess, Charlie came up to him. "Hey, Cas! Where’s Dean?"

Cas wondered if Charlie would care about the news of Dean leaving in the way Dean wanted him to. "He’s sick," he told her. "Flu."

"Oh, no! He’s still going to be able to make it to the goodbye party, though, right?"

The class had arranged a goodbye party for the exchange students at the end of next week. Cas had never exactly been looking forward to it, but right now, the mere concept of it seemed ludicrous. He shrugged one shoulder. "Don’t know. We’ll see."

He could feel Charlie’s eyes on him. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine." He pulled a random book out of his backpack. "I have to do some reading."

Charlie left him alone after that.

He dawdled on the way home, dreading being alone with Dean in the apartment. He still got home hours before his mom would be back from work, and found himself knocking on the door of his own room, awkward and a little nauseous. After waiting for an answer proved futile, he entered without one.

Dean was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, flipping through the picture book Cas had given him for his birthday. To make it, he’d asked around for pictures of Dean in his entire class and had assembled them the best he could. The result of his labour felt amateurish to him at best, but Dean had seemed very happy about the gift.

He didn’t seem happy now. There were no tears anymore, but his mouth was pulled down in a sad, bitter grimace, and he didn’t look up. Cas went over there to perch on the edge of the bed.

"Hello, Dean," he said. "How are you?"

"Peachy-perfect."

Cas worked his jaw and looked down. A stretch of silence followed.

"Do you want to keep this?" Dean asked eventually, pointing at the picture album.

Cas tried to ignore the stab in his chest. "I thought you’d take it home with you."

"It’s pictures of me," Dean said. "I thought it might make more sense for you to keep it. In case you—" Cas waited, but Dean didn’t finish his sentence. "Never mind."

"Dean—" Cas stopped, trying to find words of comfort. _Don’t be sad. You’ll forget about me soon enough._ He didn’t actually want that, though. That fact probably made him very selfish. "I’m going to miss you," he said quietly, more for the benefit of himself than anyone else.

"If we were normal." Dean’s voice sounded choked. "If we were girl and boy. All we’d have to do is wait until you’re eighteen, and then we could get married. You could come to America. Or—I could stay here. As your husband."

Nausea coiled in Cas’ stomach. Dean being his boyfriend was hard enough to wrap his mind around. Marriage was a whole other level, an incredibly scary word—and even scarier since he knew he’d consider it if it were an option. "We’re not," he pointed out, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

"I know that!" Dean slammed the book shut and pushed to his feet, pacing a few steps. "Fuck, Cas, I know we’re—" Dean’s breath quivered as he exhaled. His eyes met Cas’. "We’re screwed, man. We’re never going to see each other again. I don’t know where to take the money to pay for a plane ticket, and you—" Dean shrugged, voice cracking. "You’re not doing anything. You’re not even trying to fight this."

"What would you have me do, Dean?" Cas’ jaw ached as he clenched it tightly. "The most I can do is come visit you. But you probably won’t want me to."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

Cas swallowed. "When someone leaves your life—when you don’t see them every day. They become a lot less important. I will become a lot less important to you. Once you’re back home, you probably won’t want me to come visit."

Dean was staring at him. "So—you think I’m not serious?"

"Serious about what?"

"This, Cas! Us. You think—" Dean sucked in a breath and took a step closer. Cas could see his hands curling into fists, and for a moment wondered if Dean was going to punch him. "I told my _dad_ about you, Cas." Dean didn’t punch him, but his voice was tight, almost a hiss. "You think I’d do that if I weren’t serious?"

Cas didn’t know what to say in the face of Dean’s anger. He shifted on the bed. "Look, Dean . . . I don’t know if you’re serious or not. You act like you are. But you’re also _here_. You haven’t left yet. Once you leave—I just won’t be that important anymore. That’s just how it works."

Dean stared at him, eyes wide and intense, until Cas couldn’t stand it anymore and glanced down. Dean’s hand landing on his shoulder startled him, but he didn’t pull away as Dean gave him a squeeze. It felt gentle. "Cas, no. It’s not how it works. I’ll prove to you, all right? People don’t automatically forget about you once you leave their sight."

Cas raised his eyes. Dean’s face was a little too close for comfort. He wasn’t sure if what he was seeing in Dean’s face was anger or determination, so he glanced to the side and picked up the photo album to hold it out to Dean. "You should keep it. It’s yours."

Dean took the book, his fingers brushing against Cas’. "I’ll prove it to you."

Cas didn’t reply. Once Dean had stepped aside, Cas got up to clamber up into his own bed. The height shielded him from prying looks, and the blanket he pulled over his head shut out the bright light of day. He stayed there, cocooned in the dark, until his mom made him come to dinner.

\-----

They dropped Dean off at the airport the morning of the next day. The long stretch of hallway leading along the check-in desks was mostly empty, and the queue at security non-existent. It was nothing like Cas envisioned it, Dean disappearing into a packed crowd never to be seen again. That didn’t make it feel any better, though.

He kept silent as his mom helped Dean check in, and trudged along behind them as they approached the security lines, fighting the dredge of exhaustion pulling on his muscles. He’d spent the night before listening to Dean trying to stifle sniffles in the bed below him, until at some point he’d clambered down and spooned up against Dean’s back. They hadn’t spoken, but eventually, Dean had fallen asleep. Cas must have as well, since when his mom nudged him awake this morning, he’d still been in the downstairs bed. She didn’t ask any questions, though, and Cas didn’t volunteer an explanation.

"You should probably head on through," his mom said, and Cas realized they’d reached the security gates. He glanced at Dean, who was pale, his mouth set in a tense line and the knuckles on the hand clutching his backpack white. Cas remembered one of the first things Dean had said to him: that he hated flying.

"Yeah," Dean said. Their eyes met as Dean glanced over. For a moment, Cas felt pinned, but then took a step forward.

"KLM’s one of the safest airlines. You don’t have to be scared." Dean nodded, but his expression didn’t relax. Cas shuffled his feet and glanced over at his mom, who was distracted trying to read the departure table. "You’ll get to see your family," he said quietly. "That’s good, right?"

Dean nodded again, but he seemed distracted. "Cas—" He lowered his voice. "I got to know. Do you want me to come back?"

Cas’ throat tightened, and he shook his head. "They wouldn’t let you stay." A few weeks ago, he’d spent a few hours reading up about it on the internet. Emigrating to a different country seemed next to impossible. "You could stay for a while, but then you’d have to leave again. You can’t stay permanently."

Dean shook his head. The expression on his face made Cas’ stomach coil. Dean looked ready to kill anyone stopping him from remaining in the country. "Cas, just tell me. Do you want me to come back, or no?"

Cas felt heat creep up his cheeks into his eyes, and he sniffed. "I do," he said quietly.

Dean’s lips pressing against his was a surprise, just like the first time they’d kissed. It lasted much shorter than it did then. Cas blinked as Dean pulled back, heart in his throat as he met Dean’s eyes.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Dean squeezed his shoulder, and Cas nodded.

"Okay," he said. "You, too."

He watched Dean pull away, turn to his mom and shake her hand in goodbye, then pass through the rope barrier leading up to security. He felt his mother’s arm around his shoulder as they stood there and watched Dean walk away, realizing only now that Dean had kissed him in front of her. She wasn’t asking questions, though.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed.


	5. Chapter 5

In the week after he left, Dean wrote Cas two emails.

The first one Cas received on Tuesday evening, three days after they’d dropped Dean off at the airport. It was only a few lines long, a brief status update that Dean had arrived safely and that he’d started packing for the move. That part had surprised Cas; he hadn’t known Dean’s family was moving. He sat at the computer for almost an hour before he’d managed to put together his reply.

_Hello Dean,_

_I’m fine, too. I haven’t told anyone yet that you’ve gone back to America, so if you are writing emails to anyone, please don’t tell them. I’ve told them you’re sick._

_I miss you. I hope your family is well. Good luck for the move. I hope the new place is nice._

_\-- Cas_

The next few days, he checked his inbox first thing after getting up, first thing after getting home from school, and last thing before going to bed. With every time he logged on to find it empty, the hole in his chest grew bigger. On Friday, he told Charlie he’d been lying about Dean being sick, and was surprised when she reacted by giving him a hug instead of getting angry. On Saturday, when everyone else was at the goodbye party for the remaining exchange students, Cas reloaded his inbox at midnight to finally find another email from Dean.

_Hey Cas,_

_Sorry I haven’t written. Dad shut off our phone service at the house, so I have to go to the library to get access. Hope you’re doing okay._

_Have you told people by now? I don’t have anyone’s email address, so I can’t write anyway. You should at least tell Charlie, though. And give her my address so we can stay in contact._

_I miss you, too. I wish I could go back. Dad found us a small apartment in Kansas City. It’s fine, but it’s ground floor in kind of a shitty neighbourhood and far away from everything. I don’t know why he’s moving Sam out of the suburbs if he’s so worried about him acting out. In the new place, Sam could probably deal weed out of his bedroom window if he wanted to. And I don’t like losing the house. But apparently, we need the money._

_I tried to speak to Dad about you, and about going back. So far, no luck. I don’t think Dad understands that I’m serious. Maybe that’s good, though. If he realizes I’m serious about you, he *will* probably kill me._

_But just to let you know, without Dad’s help, this is probably going to take a little longer. I also still need to finish school. Last school day is on May 14th, though, so that’s less than two months away._

_Hang in there. We’ll see each other soon. I love you._

_\-- Dean_

Cas spent a good long time staring at the last sentence. Dean had never said it out loud, had never told him as much when they were together. But now, in an email where Dean was telling him that everything was going to take longer, that he didn’t have a plan besides "being serious", and had no adult help, he put it down as a closing statement.

_I love you, so don’t be sad if I can’t be with you right now._

_I love you, so be patient while things take longer._

_I love you, so as long as you know that, I don’t need to be there._

For the first time since he’d watched Dean walk away from him at the airport, Cas felt tears rise in his eyes. He shut off his computer and climbed up into his bed, burrowing under the blankets and pillows to stifle his sobs, where he ended up staying for most of the weekend.

The email remained unanswered. Cas checked for new ones a couple of times the next few days, but when nothing arrived, he stopped. Dean wasn’t going to write anymore. And Cas was going to have to move on with his life.

\-----

In early June, Cas felt like he’d almost managed. With the other exchange students gone as well, Dean’s absence didn’t feel as jarring anymore, at least not during class. Another barrage of exams had started in late May and was keeping him occupied, and he’d picked up a party lead in _Warcraft_. Between everything, he spent almost no time missing Dean anymore. The only times that were difficult were evenings and nights. But that would hopefully go away soon, too.

One holdover from the time Dean had spent in Germany was that Cas and Charlie spoke more or less regularly now, especially during recess. Cas enjoyed the occasional reprieve from Balthazar’s antics, which had grown less amiable. Sometimes Cas wondered if Balthazar resented the fact that for six months, Cas’ attention had been with someone else. He certainly wasn’t going to ask, though, so he simply enjoyed the fact that now there was someone else he could talk to, someone who had shared in the experience of hosting an exchange student.

Apparently, that wasn’t the only thing Charlie had shared in. They were perching on a low wall outside the school gate, Charlie smoking a cigarette and Cas trying to avoid the wafts of smoke blowing his way, when Charlie casually mentioned that Jo was a really great kisser.

Stunned, it took Cas a moment to put together a reaction. "You—um. You and Jo were dating?"

"Oh, you know. Not so much dating as experimenting," Charlie provided cheerfully. "Jo said she’d never kissed anyone, and I had, so we practiced. That’s how it started, anyway. We kind of ended up doing a lot of practicing."

Charlie gave him a wink, and in his surprise, Cas forgot to duck his head as a swirl of smoke curled his way. He spluttered as it stung in his eyes and nose, and Charlie held her cigarette further away. "Sorry."

"So—" Cas cleared his throat. "Uhm. Was she, like. Your girlfriend?"

Charlie tilted her head in contemplation. "Kind of? Maybe a little?" She flicked some ash onto the cobblestones and crossed her legs against the wall. "But if she was, she’s not anymore. Long-distance’s a bitch. You don’t do that unless you’re dating your Prince Charming."

"And Jo wasn’t your Prince Charming?"

Charlie huffed and elbowed Cas in the side. "No, silly. Jo was cute. But Jo’s a friend. It’s better that way."

Cas lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about Charlie’s words, remembering the smile on Charlie’s face and her light-hearted assurance when she said Jo was no more than a friend to her. Maybe that was Cas’ mistake. Maybe considering Dean his _boy_ friend, rather than just his friend, was the reason he hadn’t dared to check his inbox for coming up to a month now. Maybe Dean simply wasn’t his Prince Charming. It wasn’t like Cas had enough experience to know if he was.

The thought made things easier. On the surface, anyway. Deep down in a hidden part of his mind, something splintered and broke, but Cas chose to ignore it. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, anyway.

\-----

_Rez!_

Cas typed out the word, fingers flying across the keyboard with emphasis. He smacked his index finger down onto the return button hard enough to make it hurt. _Rez me, I need a rez!_

The raid had been going on pretty much non-stop for two days. Fortunately, it was a weekend, so Cas had been able to be online pretty much the entire time. It was necessary. He was party leader, after all, and this raid had been botched from the start. They were close to finishing, but his character had finally taken one too many hits and gone down. And the healer was too distracted running away to rez him. Cas cursed under his breath.

"Castiel." The voice came from outside the world of the game, far away and unimportant. Cas ignored it. A moment later a hand landed on his shoulder. "Castiel!"

Cas pulled his headphones off and glared up at his mother. "What?"

His mom had tried several times over the past couple of days to pry him away from the computer, with food, questions, and even a straight-up order once. He’d ignored her, closed the door to shut her out. So he was playing more now than he used to. So what? It wasn’t any of her business what he did with his time.

"Castiel, I’d like you to come with me."

"I’m busy." He raised his headphones to put them back on, but stopped when his mom’s hand landed on his arm.

"No, Castiel. No more computer game. You need to go take a shower, and then you need to come with me."

The urge to shove her away, to put his headphones back on and shut her out, was strong. The only thing that stopped him was the way she was looking at him—concern rather than anger. "I have to finish here," he said. "I’ll be done in a couple of hours. Please?"

The moment of sympathy for his mother disappeared when she pulled the headphones from his fingers with a stern, "No. Shower, Castiel. You smell of high heaven. And then you are going to come with me."

There was no arguing when his mother used that tone, so Cas got to his feet to shuffle over to the door. With a glare over his shoulder, he echoed words he remembered Gabe saying more than once. "Is this going to be the rest of my life? You telling me when to eat, shower and poop? We could draw up a schedule, save you some time."

The comment came out lacklustre and unconvincing. His mom didn’t even look mad. She just sighed. "Castiel, you’re going to thank me for this. Trust me."

He narrowed his eyes at her, silent disdain reaching farther than any mouthy comment ever would, before he trudged into the bathroom to peel off his clothes and take a shower. He hadn’t had one in a while. It maybe even felt sort of good.

When he was done and dressed in the fresh clothes his mother had stashed outside the bathroom while he’d been in the shower, she herded him out to the garage. His question of where they were going stayed unanswered, and he installed himself in the passenger seat, silently staring at the town rushing by.

If she was taking him to therapy, he simply wasn’t going to say anything. She could force him to sit there, but she couldn’t force him to speak.

They left the town behind, though, driving past fields and woods towards the highway. Maybe she was packing him off to relatives? Somewhere with no internet connection, no computer, nothing to connect to the outside world. Uncle Joshua’s place in the country. Cas slid down further in his seat as the possibility began to seem more and more likely.

It did, that was, until they passed the entrance ramp to the highway without taking the turn. There was nothing out here for miles. Nothing besides the airport.

"Mom," Cas said, shifting in his seat, palms sweaty all of a sudden. "Mom, where are we going?"

"You’ll see," she said, patting his knee as if he were five. He pulled it away, teeth clenching. If she didn’t want to tell him, fine. He wasn’t going to make assumptions, wasn’t going to allow any of the many possibilities popping up in the back of his head to become the one he focused on. Maybe they weren’t even going to the airport. Maybe his mother wanted to take him on a nature walk.

They pulled into Terminal 1—Arrivals minutes later. It was a little more crowded than it had been the last time Cas was here, four months ago with Dean. His mother passed the line at security without a glance, though. They apparently weren’t departing. She led them to the arrivals exit, metal bars and a six-foot-tall glass barrier gating off the customs area. Behind it, Cas was able to catch a glimpse of the baggage carrousels. They were still and empty right now; no planes had arrived in this section in the past hour. Cas threw a careful glance up at the arrivals board.

There was no flight from Kansas City. There was Cancun, Montreal, and Lima. And New York, the only American city on the list. Cas tried to recall the map of the United States, wondering if it made sense to change in New York when you were flying in from Kansas City. It didn’t seem completely far-fetched, at least. The arrival from New York was at the top of the list, and as he watched, he could see the first passengers trickle through immigration control into the baggage area.

"Mom," he said, having to clear his throat to steady his voice. "Why are we here?"

His mom didn’t answer, just reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Cas went up to the glass wall, put his palms against it to peer through. Beside him, there was a small child, shifting her feet and singing ‘daddy-daddy-daddy’ under her voice. He glanced down at her. "Is your daddy in New York?"

She stopped shuffle-dancing and stared up at him with wide eyes. "My daddy’s on a plane!" she said. "He’s coming home today. We made a sign!"

Cas followed her pointing finger to see what was presumably her mother holding a sign with a laboured "Welcome home, Daddy!" scrawled across it. He swallowed.

"I am—I think I’m waiting for someone, too," he said. "I don’t have a sign, though."

"That’s okay," the kid allowed graciously. "You can just wave really hard!"

As she said it, she started doing so, and Cas thought she was demonstrating. Her shout of "Daddy!" proved him wrong a moment later. He glanced up to see one of the first passengers clearing customs being a thirty-something year old man in a business suit. His daughter ran around the glass barrier to greet him, flinging her arms around his legs. "Daddy! We made a sign!"

Cas pulled his eyes away from the family reunion when the mother joined them and shared a hello kiss with her husband. His heart crawled up into his throat, another inch with every beat, as he watched more people trickle out of arrivals. At first it was the passengers with carry-on only, small suitcases bouncing after them. Some were greeted by their loved ones, a couple were picked up by a chauffeur with a sign. A handful didn't meet anyone, just made their way towards the taxi stand.

At some point, Cas started to count. There were roughly three hundred passengers on an average transatlantic flight. He'd seen probably twenty come out already. Five minutes later he hit one hundred. His palm was leaving a moist handprint on the smooth surface of the glass barrier. 

And then he spotted something. On the baggage carrousel, a large blue suitcase passed by. On its handle, it sported a red ribbon. It looked exactly like the suitcase that had sat in the corner of his room for six months, the one Dean had handed over to the polite check-in desk lady about four months ago. 

Cas shoved closer to the glass wall, his knee banging against it and making it rattle. "Dean!"

The customs officer standing in the nothing-to-declare gangway between the baggage area and the main hall threw him a stern look, and Cas shuffled back a little. He craned his neck to see, but the suitcase had passed out of his field of vision. Cas swallowed against a parched throat. "Dean," he muttered under his breath. " _Dean._ "

When Dean finally turned the corner, Cas almost didn’t recognize him. He’d cut the floppy hair short, thick bristles sticking out over his forehead, exposing tired, searching eyes. Cas’ throat constricted, so he couldn’t shout to draw Dean’s attention. He waved instead, like the little girl had done earlier.

"Cas!" Dean’s flitting eyes settled, and Cas felt emotion surge through him as their eyes met. He nodded, palm falling against the glass again.

"Dean."

It took Dean forever to circle around the barrier, but when he passed the gate, Cas met him in stride. Dean’s suitcase hit the floor and Dean’s arms wrapped around him. For a moment, it felt like gravity had been suspended. Dean was warm and solid and smelled of sweat, detergent and _Dean_ , and Cas stuck his face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

"Dean," he said again, quietly, voice shaking as he squeezed his eyes shut against moisture trying to sneak its way past his eyelids. "I missed you."

"I’m here now." Dean’s voice was steady next to his ear, and he felt Dean’s lips press against the side of his neck. "It’s all right, Cas. I came back."

\-----

Dean’s entire body ached. The flight had been awful, familiar plane panic mixing with the nagging worry about Cas that had been growing to sizeable dimensions in the back of his head over the past few weeks. Together, they’d created a disharmonious cacophony of anxiety that had kept him awake the entire ten hours and had tightened his muscles into painful knots.

None of that seemed to matter, though, when he wrapped his arms around Cas. The hustle of the airport disappeared and all he could hear was Cas saying his name, quiet, shakily. Cas’ frame under his hands felt bonier than the last time he’d hugged him, and another bout of worry clenched his chest. Naomi had told him in her emails that Cas wasn’t dealing well at all. Well, he didn’t have to anymore now.

"Cas," Dean said, an excited thrill sneaking into his voice. "I’ve made it, I’m _here_!" He pulled back to meet Cas’ perplexed expression. "Do you even know what’s going on?"

"No," Cas said.

Before he could answer, someone nudged against Dean’s back and he realized they were blocking the way of the other passengers. He scooped up his suitcase and moved out of the way, giving a nod to Naomi who was waiting off to the side.

"Hey," he said in greeting, and Naomi waved with a smile.

"Hey, Dean. It’s so good to see you." He found himself enveloped in a brief hug, then Naomi pulled back, eying him and Cas with a meaningful look. "Would you boys like to talk now, or would you like to go home first?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get a chance before Cas cut in. "Go home first." Cas sounded stern, his eyes fixed on Dean, and Dean gave him a smile.

As they walked to the car, Cas continued to inch closer to him. Dean’s hands were full with his bags and suitcases, but he still felt the urge to take Cas’ hand.

"Was the flight very bad?" Cas asked, concern in his voice. "You had to change, right? In New York."

"I did, yeah." Dean shrugged and heaved his bag onto the escalator leading to the parking garage. "I knew beforehand this time that I was going to hate it, so at least I didn’t get surprised."

Cas stood a few steps above him, expression somber and eyes still fixed on Dean. "You’re very brave."

Cas’ tone wasn’t mocking; he was actually serious. A surge of warmth ran through Dean’s chest; Cas was right, he _was_ fucking brave. "Thanks." He threw Cas a glance. "Um, Cas. How long since you’ve last checked your email?"

Cas’ eyes shifted to the side, guilty, shoulders coming up in a shrug. "Don’t know. Something like—two months."

"Two—" No wonder there had never been a reply, or a sign of life from Cas. Dean shook his head and reached out across his suitcase to squeeze Cas’ hand. "Dude, I have _so much_ to tell you."

\-----

Cas’ entire neighborhood was blooming in lush greens, remainders of cherry and apple blossoms on the sidewalks and scattered along the fences. Dean remembered witnessing the last days of fall here, bright autumn colors fading into the monotony of winter. He couldn’t decide which was more beautiful.

They passed the bushes in front of Cas’ apartment block and headed on inside. The apartment looked exactly as Dean had left it, walls covered in photography and every room except Cas’ perfectly clean.

Cas’ room was a little worse for wear. The downstairs bed was still there, and it looked like it had been slept in. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and an army of used coffee mugs clumped around the monitor on the desk. It smelled like the window hadn’t been opened in a while, but Naomi fixed that as she slid past them to push it open.

"Apologies for the mess," she said as if it were hers. "Cas hasn’t had a chance to tidy up. But with you here, maybe he’ll have an incentive."

There was a certain testiness to her tone, but Dean had no interest of getting in the middle of this feud, so he just smiled. "It’s fine," he said as he dumped his suitcase in its accustomed corner. "We’ll figure it out."

"I’ll give you boys some time to talk," Naomi said, then pointedly looked at Cas. "No need to barricade the door, Castiel. I will be out shopping and I won’t be back until after eight."

Cas was standing near his desk with his hands in his pockets. He looked a little shell-shocked, but the squint he was giving Naomi still managed to seem annoyed. "And you’ll knock."

"And I’ll knock." Naomi smiled. "See you later, boys!"

The door’s lock clicked shut behind her, and Dean turned around to face Cas. He didn’t get a chance to speak before Cas pushed him back against the wardrobe. His back connected with the wood with a clatter, and tension fell off of him like weights as Cas’ lips met his. He moaned into the kiss and opened his mouth, then wrapped his arms around Cas to keep him close.

"Missed you," he mumbled past the kiss, and Cas grunted a reprimand.

"No talking."

Dean couldn’t help it, Cas’ order made him laugh, muffled chuckles huffing past the kiss until Cas pulled back with a frown. Dean shook his head in apology, but he couldn’t stop. The stress of the past few months, the anxiety of struggling past obstacle after obstacle, from graduating school to battling international bureaucracy to withstanding his dad, fell off of him as he realized he’d made it. He was back in Cas’ room, with the bunk bed left over from Cas’ childhood and the eclectic library consisting of fantasy fiction and insect-study non-fiction; back with Cas who hated it when Dean distracted from kissing by trying to talk. Dean kept laughing as he wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck and pulled him close again into a messy, sloppy kiss. "You have—no idea," he gasped between giggles. "No idea how much I’ve been waiting for this."

"I think I have some idea," Cas muttered, but the creases crinkling the corners of his eyes belied his grouchy tone. Dean was pushed back against the wardrobe again, Cas’ lips enveloping his in a pushy, sloppy, deep caress. Dean shuddered as Cas’ hands slid under his shirt and brushed over the bare skin of his sides, tickling.

Dean had figured Cas was going to want to know everything. The moment they arrived at the apartment, Dean expected to be grilled on every detail of how he’d managed to come back. But as he felt Cas suck on his tongue, Cas’ hands sliding over his jeans to cup his ass, Dean knew how stupid an idea that was. The last thing he wanted to do with Cas right now was _talk_.

He crowded against Cas, nudging him towards the bed. In an awkward tangle, they stumbled across the room and fell onto the mattress, Dean on his back. Cas immediately straddled his waist, his hands on Dean’s shoulders as he leaned up and gave Dean a stare that softened into a smile when Dean met his eyes. "You cut your hair."

"I did." Dean turned his head from side to side to allow for inspection. "You like it?"

Cas raised a hand to let his fingers glide through the bristles. Dean hummed in appreciation, his eyelids fluttering at the touch. "I do. You don’t look like Aaron Carter anymore."

Dean spluttered. "Excuse me, I never looked like Aaron Carter."

From anyone else, that comment would have been an insult, but as he met Cas’ eyes, Cas’ soft smile excused any wrongdoing. Dean groaned and arched his back, hands going up to ineffectively tug Cas’ shirt up. "Too many clothes," he complained.

Cas sat back, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it. When his tousled head emerged from the fabric, he looked a little shy. But that didn’t stop him from sitting back on his haunches and grabbing the front of Dean’s shirt to haul him up into a sitting position.

"Whoa," Dean laughed. When he met Cas’ eyes, his smile dissipated. Cas looked very serious.

"I want to do it properly, Dean," Cas said.

Dean wet his lips. "What’s—properly?"

"I looked it up. Online. How to do it." Cas shifted his eyes to the side at the admission, but kept going. "I want you to be inside of me, Dean. Like—you know. Sex. But—with _us_. Not a girl."

Dean swallowed, his hand sliding up over the smooth expanse of Cas’ chest. He ran a finger along Cas’ collarbone, following the graceful arc with his eyes. "Aren’t you scared? It—apparently it hurts."

Cas shook his head. "Doesn't have to. I bought—before you left, I bought lube. I was going to tell you but then you had to leave and I never got around to it."

"Lube," Dean repeated, a small smile tugging on his lips. Cas was serious about this. He leaned forward, arms around Cas’ waist as he captured Cas’ mouth in another kiss. "Okay," he muttered. "Let's do it properly."

Cas kissed back, too distracted by logistics to really commit. "I also bought condoms," he said. "It's important to be safe." He hopped off Dean’s lap despite Dean’s protests and went over to a desk drawer. "You should get naked."

Dean took a couple of moments to watch Cas before he followed his instructions, the lines of Cas’ back and shoulders, the way his waist narrowed before it disappeared into his jeans. "You, too," he said before he pulled his shirt off. 

Minutes later they were back on the bed, the lube and condoms on the nightstand. They'd both shed their clothes, only to realize that this was the first time they’d been naked around each other. 

Cas was lavishing every inch of skin on Dean’s chest and stomach with attention and kisses, and Dean had to close his eyes to ride out the surge of arousal curling in his stomach. His hands were in Cas’ hair, stroking and petting. He traced a fingertip along Cas’ ear, then jumped as Cas’ tongue caught a ticklish spot. "Cas!"

Cas replied with a grunt and licked the same spot again. Dean heard a small squeal escape his own mouth and reached up to grab Cas’ waist, leveraging his upper body up to flip Cas on his back. They hit the pillows with a thump. Dean caught Cas’ lips in another kiss as he straddled Cas’ thighs. Dean could feel the surprised tension in Cas’ body melt away as he sucked on Cas’ tongue, tasting warmth and a hint of coffee.

He let go of Cas’ waist and snuck his hand down to Cas’ crotch. Coarse pubic hair met his fingertips, and then Cas gasp-moaned as Dean’s fingers brushed against the head of his dick. Dean sat up to be able to see better.

"Look at the two of them," he said with a grin. His own erection was bouncing up and down next to Cas’, which was resting on Cas’ stomach, skin pulled taut, the head glistening and red. He grazed a fingernail along the arch of it, and Cas groaned his name as he propped himself up on his elbows to look as well.

Dean watched Cas’ face, suddenly nervous what Cas would say. He couldn’t deny that his own dick was a little smaller than Cas’. Not by much, but even if it was slight, the size difference was undeniable.

Cas didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached out to wrap his hand around Dean’s dick. His grip was firm, tight, and sent a surge along Dean’s spine that made Dean shudder. He laughed, surprised. "Cas," he breathed, his back curving as he hunched forward, palms against the mattress on each side of Cas’ head. Cas found his eyes, and Dean moaned as he felt Cas’ hand start to move. " _Shit_."

It was an awkward position, Dean crouched on top of Cas, whose arm was twisted at an awkward angle to be able to reach. With every stroke, the head of Dean’s dick hit Cas’ palm, delicate friction spreading from Dean’s crotch up his spine all the way into his shoulders, making his arms tremble. He moaned again, then let his elbows give way so he could duck down and press his mouth against the side of Cas’ neck. He started kissing and sucking on the skin, taking in Cas’ scent and raising a bruise as he felt Cas’ hand settle against his back.

"Dean," Cas breathed, his breath tickling against Dean’s ear. "You’re going to stay now. Right? You’ll stay with me."

Cas’ voice, low and gravelly even in a whisper, was about as much of a turn on as his hand. Dean moaned again and thrust his hips, pre-come slicking up Cas’ palm. "Yeah," he gasped, swallowing to steady his voice. "Cas. I’ve got—I can stay. I got accepted into—"

Cas tightened his hand on his back and interrupted him. "Tell me later." He squeezed, sending a heady rush crashing down over Dean.

"Cas," he laughed, breathless, nipping at Cas’ ear just because it was right there. "Slow down, man."

Cas hummed in response, satisfied. His hand cupped Dean’s waist, and it took no more than a gentle push for him to topple Dean over onto his back. Dean laughed again, arching against the mattress as oversensitive nerve endings made his skin tingle, and reached out. Cas had propped himself up on one elbow onto his side, and Dean’s hand found Cas’ face. He traced gentle fingers over Cas’ cheek, the arch of his cheekbone and down to his mouth, one fingertip running along Cas’ lip. Cas nipped at the tip of his finger, making Dean laugh again. Cas’ face pulled into a rare, wide smile.

"I like it when you laugh," he said, then blushed furiously, skin reddening all the way up under his hairline. Dean felt his own cheeks grow warm, and he clasped Cas’ arm.

"You want to do this? Like. Properly?"

Cas nodded. As much as Cas always seemed to know what he wanted, especially when it came to making out, right now he looked a little nervous. He flopped over onto his stomach, thoroughly distracting Dean as he clenched his ass to press his crotch into the mattress. Muscles worked under skin, and Dean wet his lips, rolling over onto his side to slide a hand down Cas’ spine in the small of his back and cup one ass cheek. He spoke without thinking about it. "You’ve got a great ass."

Now it was his turn to grow bright red, but Cas just craned his head and gave him a pleased smile. "You think so?"

Dean nodded, returning the smile with a soft one, and shifted into a sitting position as Cas handed him a plastic-wrapped condom. He tore it open with his teeth, then glanced at Cas, whose eyes were on Dean’s dick, which gave a little twitch in response to Cas’ intense stare.

"You going to watch?" Dean asked. Cas glanced up.

"Can I?"

Dean swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, a giddy feeling sending a thrill through his body. "Okay."

The intensity in Cas’ eyes was like a physical touch as Dean put the condom on. He felt his own hands like a stranger’s, using his thumb to idly smear some of the precome around the head and along the sensitive ridge. His nail caught against skin, making his breath hitch. Cas gave a small moan, which quickly turned into an impatient grunt. "Dean, put it _on_."

The pushiness made Dean laugh, but he complied, rolling the rubber down the length of his dick and tugging on the tip a little to make sure there was some give. "All suited up," he grinned. His breath caught as he met Cas’ eyes. They were wide, dark like storm clouds, pupils blown wide. Cas’ ass was clenched, hips pressed down into the pillows. He looked exactly like Dean felt; incredibly turned on.

"You’re going to have to tell me what to do," Dean said, his voice little more than a husky rasp. "I don’t want to hurt you."

"Take the lube." As Dean shifted to reach across Cas, Cas raised a hand to stroke along his side, all the way down to his hip. Dean felt a finger trail along the crease of his crotch and thigh, and shuddered as Cas tapped lightly against his dick.

"Got it," he said as he grabbed the tube. "Uh, do you—how do you want to—"

"On all fours." Cas pushed himself up, his back arching gracefully as he presented his backside. "I read online that this is the best position for your first time."

Dean felt his dick throb between his legs in time with his racing heart as he knelt beside Cas, hands sliding down over Cas’ sweat-slick back to cup his ass. He glanced up to meet Cas’ eyes, smiling as he squeezed a little. "Can I—are you cool if I kiss it?"

"My ass?" Cas sounded perplexed, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he wondered if that was a weird request. He nodded, and Cas tilted his head in lieu of a shrug. "Okay."

Dean ducked his head down, brushing against Cas’ skin with a testing lick before he placed a sucking, open-mouthed kiss against Cas’ ass. He’d intended to pull back after a moment, check if Cas liked it, but he didn’t need to. His hand was still on Cas’ back, and he could feel a tremor run through him, his breath hitching in his throat. He hummed, pleased, lips vibrating against Cas’ skin as he raised his other hand to slide it between Cas’ legs. Cas’ balls filled his palm, heavy and warm, resting against the length of Cas’ erection. Dean shifted around more to get better access, mouth still sucking and licking Cas’ skin. He slid his thumb up the base of Cas’ balls to the soft, sensitive area right behind them, and pressed down just as he added a hint of teeth to his kiss. Cas’ reaction was instantaneous.

" _Fuck_!" The curse came out harsh, sudden, and Cas’ elbows buckled, pressing his face into the pillows and exposing his ass even more. "Dean," he breathed, muffled but no less demanding. "Dean, use the lube. You have to loosen me up."

Dean groped for the tube with his free hand, but his coordination proved insufficient, so he had to pull back. The transparent, sticky paste was cold against his fingers, and underestimating its liquidity, he squirted some on the mattress. "Shit."

"Dean!"

"I’m working on it!" He laughed, the giddy feeling in his chest spreading out and making him dizzy. "This stuff is weird."

"You have to use a lot. Make it really loose. Three fingers."

Dean huffed a smile. "You weren’t kidding about having done research, were you?"

Cas grunted, ass wriggling as he shifted. "No."

Once his hands were dripping with lube, Dean reached down between Cas’ legs with his left hand, sliding his thumb along the spot that had elicited the volatile reaction earlier as he cupped Cas’ balls again. Cas didn’t curse this time, just shuddered and grunted. " _Dean_."

"I’m getting to it," Dean smiled. "Relax."

With Cas’ legs splayed out as they were, his asshole was exposed and visible. Dean gathered up some lube from his palm onto his fingertips and swallowed before he applied it in a gentle caress around the tight muscle.

Cas’ long, drawn-out moan made Dean’s heart skip a beat, and the way he arched his back even more made Dean wonder if there was such a thing as blacking out from being too turned on. He got braver, applying pressure to the hole with his thumb. The copious amounts of lube he was using made matters extremely slick and slippery, and the light pressure was enough to make the tip of his thumb slip inside. He and Cas gasped in unison.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean muttered under his breath as he wriggled his thumb, testing. Cas made another sound—this time more a whine than a moan—and pressed back against him.

"More, Dean. You’re too slow!"

"All right!" Dean laughed, and started to work his thumb, trying to loosen Cas up as instructed. Despite Cas’ impatience, the muscle stubbornly insisted to work as intended and stayed incredibly tight. After a few moments, Dean switched from thumb to middle finger, and immediately found things to be much easier. Before long, he was able to slide it in up to the first knuckle, resistance dissipating with every stroke. Cas had gone silent except for harsh, breathy gasps, and Dean could feel more sweat gathering between his legs and behind his balls. Cas’ dick hung heavy and hard between his legs.

He kept working his finger in a steady rhythm, and ducked his head down to press a kiss against the purplish kissing bruise forming on Cas’ buttock. "Hey. You doing okay?"

Cas grunted, and in a non-verbal answer pushed his hips back against Dean’s finger, which slid inside deeper. Dean wet his lips at the sight, dick twitching between his legs. " _Shit_."

The second finger went in easier, and as Dean added a third, he realized he’d have to speed things up. The way Cas was trembling and shaking and moaning, dick dripping precome between his legs, this looked like it might end before it even started. When he felt no resistance anymore, he pulled his fingers out, hand immediately dropping down to his own dick and squeezing. "Cas," he said, breathless. "I’m going to do this now, all right?"

"Yes. Fuck, Dean. Wait."

Cas knelt up, and Dean blinked, surprised. "What—"

"I have to see you." Cas turned around, and when their eyes met, it was like the world fell away. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he went with it willingly when Cas positioned him between his legs. "On your shoulders," Cas said, impatience battling with arousal in his voice. "My legs. They go up on your shoulders."

"Right." Dean didn’t quite get what Cas was talking about until Cas manhandled them into the position he wanted, Cas on his back with his knees hooked over Dean’s shoulders. It positioned them perfectly for what they were about to do, and Dean nodded.

"Yes, good. Yes. This is better." He glanced up to meet Cas’ eyes and smiled. "Good to go?"

" _Yes_ , Dean."

Dean felt an explosion of warmth in his chest as he held Cas’ eyes and lined himself up, lube glistening on the rubber of the condom. It was still tight, the pressure on his dick sending excited tremors of arousal through his body, and Dean moaned. "Shit, Cas. _Cas_."

"Keep going." Cas’ voice was deep, strained, demanding. "Keep—Dean, come _on_."

Dean pushed in inch by inch, holding Cas’ eyes which never wavered or faltered. He could taste sweat on his upper lip, every nerve in his body on fire as he halted, buried deep inside of Cas who took him eagerly. All he had to do to meet Cas’ mouth in a kiss was duck his head, so he did, tasting the salty tang of sex on Cas’ lips. He’d never felt so complete.

He started to move his hips then, small thrusts that gained in confidence and speed as he found that all resistance had disappeared. They kept kissing, their lips locked as each thrust sent a heady rush of sensation through Dean’s body, building up a high he’d never reached before. When he felt a tight pull in his balls, he reached down to wrap his hand around Cas’ dick, sucking hard on Cas’ tongue and pumping his fist to make Cas’ join him in his climax.

They came together in a shuddery tremble of moans, hot come spilling over Dean’s fingers as he felt Cas quiver and shake underneath him. His own orgasm blurred his senses until white noise replaced all distinction, making him mute, deaf and blind for a moment. He came back to himself as he collapsed on top of Cas, whose legs fell off his shoulders. The momentum forced Dean to pull out with a startling, cold jerk, and he moaned in protest just as he felt Cas’ arms come up around him in a tight hug.

"Dean." Cas’ voice was quiet, and a little shaky. "Dean. That felt really good."

"Yes." Dean pressed a kiss against the side of Cas’ neck. "Yes, it did. I love you, Cas."

\-----

Cas’ head was swimming. Dean’s weight on top of him was heavy, comfortable, grounding. Dean’s voice was pleasant and soothing, and so was the brief brush of damp lips against the oversensitive skin of his neck. Dean’s words echoed in his ears, and it took him a moment to process them.

As soon as he did, though, he tightened his arms around Dean. He turned his head to the side and nudged Dean’s cheek until he could capture Dean’s mouth in a kiss. Their lips met, tender and swollen at this point, so Cas kept it very gentle.

Dean didn’t know it, but the kiss was an apology. Cas was never going to tell Dean what he thought the first time Dean told him he loved him—or rather wrote to him in an email Cas never replied to. He was never going to tell Dean that he’d assumed Dean was trying to manipulate him—because he’d thought the only reason anyone would ever say anything like that to him was because they needed his compliance.

He knew now that wasn’t true. Dean had shown him, was showing him right now, that he could trust him. He’d never done anything to give Cas reason to think differently. "I love you, too," he said, just loud enough so Dean, and only Dean, would hear it.

They lay there like that for a while. At some point, Cas shifted to pull the blanket out from under them and pull it over Dean and himself to protect them from the chill of sweat drying on their skin. He was starting to drift, his eyelids growing heavy, when Dean finally spoke.

"So are you ever going to ask how I made it back?"

Cas grunted and blinked to focus his eyes. Dean’s face swam into vision, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement as he peered down at Cas.

Cas wet his lips. "Uhm." He hadn’t spent much time wondering about that. Dean was back, and Dean said he was going to stay. To Cas, that was all that mattered. But Dean clearly wanted him to ask. "How did you make it back?"

Dean grinned. "I asked your mom for help."

Cas blinked. "My, uh. What?"

Dean shifted, resting his chin on his curled fists on Cas’ shoulder so he could hold Cas’ eyes comfortably. "Your mom. You don’t give her enough credit, Cas. She’s a little, you know. Uptight. But when you ask her for help, she really comes through."

"So—" Cas swallowed. "She knows about us?"

"Yeah." Dean’s eyes softened. "She—Cas, she’s the one who emailed me. She was really worried about you."

"Oh." Cas wasn’t sure how to process that. "So she knew the entire time?"

"She saw us kiss goodbye at the airport. She said she’d suspected before, but, you know. A kiss is pretty much a dead giveaway."

Cas stayed quiet as he considered this. His mother always seemed so concerned about making him do what _she_ wanted, with no regards to Cas’ preferences. He supposed he’d never asked her how she felt about the idea of him dating, or, in fact, dating boys instead of girls. He’d just assumed she wouldn’t be okay with it. He wet his lips. "So, uh. What’d she do? Did she get you a job with the city?"

Dean shook his head. "She did better. Going back was the worst, you know? Nothing back home was—none of it was what I wanted. The move sucked, and the new apartment is kind of shit—we didn’t have hot water for like a week after we moved in. And Dad was—you know. He was my dad. He was either in a bad mood because he was drunk, or he was in a bad mood because he was hungover."

Cas eyed Dean with concern, Dean’s downcast expression belying his casual tone. "I’m sorry," he said.

Dean shrugged. "It wasn’t a great time, but when I got the email from your mom that you—she said you wouldn’t leave your room even to eat anymore."

Cas frowned, remembering with a twinge of guilt the few times his mom had brought him sandwiches into the room when he’d stubbornly ignored her dinner calls. "I did leave my room," he said in a protest even he knew was weak. "Just not—every night."

Dean hummed and pressed a kiss to Cas’ jaw. "It’s fine. It’s—you hid in your room, I dug out my old fake ID and bought sixpacks. But—when your mom emailed me, I kind of spilled my guts to her, you know? I knew I wanted to get back, but I didn’t have the first idea how."

"And she did?"

"She made me sign up for the SAT." Cas pulled his eyebrows together in a questioning frown, and Dean added, "It’s a test they make you take for college. I wasn’t going to take it because I wasn’t going to go to college, but—well. Your mom suggested I take it after all. And I nailed it." Dean grinned, and Cas felt his own mouth pull into a wide smile in the face of Dean’s pride. Dean’s ears blushed pink and he shrugged. "I at least did well enough to have a shot."

Cas watched Dean, chest clenching in an unfamiliar feeling—fondness mixed with admiration. "A shot at what?"

"To study in Germany." Dean met his eyes. "Dude, do you know how crazy it is that your colleges don’t charge tuition?"

Cas shrugged. "Honestly, paying for school never made sense to me." Cas noted the morose tone that crept into the statement, but didn’t really try to tone it down. School was bad enough without having to pay for it.

Dean snorted and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Yes, grumpy, you hate school."

"So what are you going to study?"

Dean’s smile softened, and Cas’ heart skipped in his chest at the happiness evident on Dean’s face. "I found something amazing, Cas," Dean said, tone reverent, as if he still couldn’t believe his own luck. "The program your mom found for me is with an automobile company. They’ll let me work for them—and _pay_ me—but at the same time I can get my degree in engineering. And there’s, like. Guaranteed job security after. Which means guaranteed permission to stay in the country."

Cas had heard of models like that, a combination of a traineeship and a degree funded by large companies trying to get the next generation of employees early. He also knew that only the very best were selected for programs like that, and pride swelled his chest. "Which company?"

Dean’s eyes lit up in excitement. "You’re not going to believe this. What’s the greatest German car brand?"

Cas blinked. "Uhm. Volkswagen?"

"What? No!" Dean shook his head with a snort. "It’s BMW, Cas. I’m going to be working for fucking BMW!"

Cas, who had never taken an interest in cars or felt any incentive to do so, let out a joyful whoop and wrapped his arms around Dean to capture his mouth in a long, firm kiss. When it came right down to it, Dean could have named any company—the happiness on Dean’s face, the excitement in his voice and the fire in his eyes were what caused Cas’ elated reaction. "I’m so proud of you," he said. "You’re going to be the best employee they’ve ever hired."

Dean laughed and nipped a kiss against Cas’ lips. "That’s quite a compliment, coming from you."

Cas grunted and kissed Dean again. They segued into another make-out session; long, lazy kisses and tongues tangling past swollen lips. Eventually, Cas felt something stir in his crotch, and slid his hand under the blanket to slip it between Dean’s legs. Dean’s dick was soft, nestled comfortably between Dean’s thigh and hip, and Dean grunted as Cas’ fingers curled around it. "How long till you can get hard again?" Cas asked as he nosed against Dean’s neck.

Dean flicked his tongue against Cas’ lower lip and smiled. "Mhm. Pretty much depends on you. You want to go again?"

"Yes." Cas pressed closer, pushing Dean over onto his back and cupping his mouth against the underside of his jaw. "I do. I want to try the other way around."

Dean laughed, blushing bright red to the tips of his ears. But his smile was warm and wide.

"All right," he said. "Let’s do that."

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: parental neglect, underage drug use (weed), death of a parent (referenced), underage sex (they're 17 and 18, so I didn't use the archive warning)


End file.
